


There's More To It

by kodaandorion



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Androids, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Connor Needs A Hug, Detectives, Deviants, Explicit Language, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Hank Can't Stop Swearing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Game, Post-Pacifist Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15012248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kodaandorion/pseuds/kodaandorion
Summary: In the aftermath of the peaceful winning of Markus and Jericho, humans nervously return to Detroit after months of negotiation, discussions and decisions. As they integrate back into the city’s new society, many of them have formed strong and various opinions. Most co-exist with the androids in peace, even if it proves a challenge. However, some anti-Android crimes have started sprouting up around the city and pose a threat once again to the androids.Hank Anderson and Connor return to the Detroit police force with a new mission: eliminate anti-Android crime. But this mission could be dangerous for Connor, as the anti-Android hate groups would love nothing more to see the traitor of CyberLife dead in the ground. It’s going to take a lot from Detroit’s favourite detectives, especially as Connor continues to adapt to his new deviant life.A post-Detroit story focusing on Connor and Hank, based on the pacifist ending.





	1. 27th February 2039

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to part three of "I can't stick with one fandom for more than a month". This time it's Detroit: Become Human.
> 
> I need a DLC for Connor and Hank solving crimes together and being the best buddies they should be but is that going to happen? I don't know. So we'll write our fanfictions instead.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. As always: kudos makes me smile, comments make my day.

It’s been three and a half months since the Battle for Detroit. Markus led a peaceful revolution and managed to take over the whole city. After much discussion with the humans, including Markus’s own personal visit to the White House for talks with President Warren, they managed to settle on an agreement: humans may return to Detroit to co-exist with androids, including all over the rest of America.

Slowly but surely, Detroit began to return. Those who came back were cautious at first, but Markus’s support helped and they realized the androids they once called slaves were willing to let them back with open arms if they treated them they same way they would. The humans adapted - some slid into it easily, whilst others had a little trouble adapting to having to do housework on their own. Some of those from Detroit refused to return to their homes. There were a variety of reasons: some had too many bad memories, or couldn’t quite trust the androids yet, or had found better lives elsewhere. But the humans returned, and life improved.

Markus sat in the chair of his office, within the place he had once called home before everything changed. Carl had left his house to Markus before he passed away, hardly a few days after the revolution. Markus was proud of what he had done, he had achieved what he had wanted. Now, it was time for development - to take this past Detroit. Past Michigan. It’s time to think national.

Kara had made it across the border with Alice and Luther in-hand, and followed Rose’s advice to stay with her brother. There, they had managed to scrape up enough money to buy their own apartment and both Luther and Kara started working. Alice was getting home-schooled, though Kara was quietly hoping for some sort of update or _something_ to allow Alice to grow up - she was desperate to see her grow into an adult and make something great with her life. But they were happy and safe, and nobody needed to know about the traumas they had gone through to get there.

But this story is not Markus’s nor Kara’s.

Hank Anderson had been in Detroit for the whole time. He was guaranteed safety by Connor, and therefore by Markus and Jericho. He attended the odd talks here and there, acting as a human representative for the current android-populated Detroit - but politics really weren’t his thing, and he preferred to remain at home watching daytime television with Sumo and Connor.

 _Connor_. Hank had been terrified when he learnt about how Connor nearly become a remote control for CyberLife and almost assasinated Markus, and ended up having a few too many drinks that night out of the anxious daydreams of losing his partner. Since then, the RK800 and moved into his home as a roommate; there wasn’t much need to get him a room, as Connor had insisted, because he doesn’t really sleep but just sort of goes on stand-by. But Hank was too stubbornly generous, wanting to give thanks for Connor for saving his life (in too many ways) and presented Connor with an additional room built into the side of the house as Connor’s very own room.

(The boy treated it more like an office in truth, with his own computer and desk, though he included a bed too even though he didn’t use it very much. He got an office chair too, a dark blue leather one with wheels, and twice Hank had caught Connor whizzing around his room on the chair, ending up with Hank laughing out the room ignoring Connor’s loud protests of “I was only calibrating the wheels” or “just testing the projectory speeds”).

For the last three and a half months, he’d been surviving on no paycheck since the DPD was out of town. He had scraped off the generous donations from other androids (many times he had androids coming to his house with fully-cooked meals, thanking him and Connor for their support during the uprising). It was tough, but he got by. In fact, his mental health improved greatly: his drinking habit improved, he started walking Sumo further and further round the block and the gun he so often planned to shoot himself with was tucked away in the bottom drawer in his room.

And then, on 27th February 2039, things changed once again.

*

Connor blinked a couple times before adjusting to his surroundings. He was lying on his comfortable bed, dressed in a fish-themed bed cover. He’d fallen asleep - no, he had woken up from stand-by, that’s all. Someone at CyberLife had come up with a sort of software update to include this. It had implemented into all androids as an optional feature, including Connor.

Rolling out of bed, he stretched his body a little and glanced around.

_//command: date and weather update_

_processing..._

_\\\27th February 2039. 35.6°F, very cloudy, 92% humidity and wind at 12mph._

At least there was no snow.

Connor turned to his wardrobe and dressed. Many androids had ditched their CyberLife standard-issue attire, but in truth Connor had a liking for it. He had not removed his LED either. Throwing his jacket on and adjusting his tie, he gave a nod and a playful wink to himself in the mirror and stepped out of his room.

The living room was messier than Connor’s preferred standards. They had gotten themselves some pizza last night: Connor didn’t _need_ to eat, but he was learning to appreciate the different formats of foods from the variations of spices to flavourings to toppings to sauces. He liked margherita the best; he agreed with Hank that pineapple did not go on pizza. The table also had a couple of beer bottles, all of which had been guzzled by Hank, and Connor saw the remnants of some pepperoni slices in Sumo’s dog bowl.

_//query: directive?_

_\\\three directives found:_ _  
_ _wake up lieutenant anderson_

_clean up house_

_walk sumo_

Connor stood there considering his choices for a moment, and had almost settled on waking up Hank before his LED momentarily flashed yellow before spinning back to blue.

_//notification: new email from Captain Fowler, marked URGENT_

An email from Captain Fowler? He made to open it, but the door behind him opened and he turned.

Hank lumbered out of his bedroom, yawning profusely and scratching his behind. His bedraggled grey hair was loose and uncombed, and his eyes were heavy-lidded. He really looked as if he had just been dragged out of his bed by both of his feet.

“Mornin’ Connor,” he yawned, stretching his arms and scratching Sumo’s head.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Connor responded automatically. He had been thinking about Fowler and the response was automatic, and he made to correct himself. “Hank.”

“That’s better,” the man replied, dragging his feet to the coffee maker, “None of this… _Lieutenant_ shit when we're home. We’ve been through enough to be over the professional boundary.”

“Right,” Connor agreed, and he began to set about clearing the coffee table. “How are you feeling today, Hank?”

He asked this every morning since he’d moved in. Little under a week after Connor had moved in, he had caught Hank sitting at the kitchen table at three in the morning with the gun. The gun with only one bullet in its chamber. Hank was wearing his stained shirt and boxers, a sickly pale pallor to his skin and eyes dead and empty.

(Connor hated to think about that night, because he had felt an overwhelming wave of absolute sheer terror sear in his chest when he saw Hank. He knew instantly what was happening; if he had been machine, he could have done it much easier, but the emotions made it tougher.

“Hank,” he said quietly, taking a seat opposite his partner, “Don’t do what I think you’re going to do.”

“I’m not doin’ anythin’,” Hank replied quietly, speech slightly slurred, “Not yet, anyway.”

“But I know what you’re thinking about.”

There was a tense silence for a moment. Connor pressed on: “Suicide isn’t an option for you, Hank. You have much to live for.”

“Suicide is always an option,” Hank retorted, “It’s a final option. An option for if shit goes downhill, if you’ve finally decided ‘enough’s enough, I want out’.”

“And you want out?”

Hank was quiet as he stared tiredly at the gun. He spun the barrel once. “When Cole… when Cole died… I was fuckin’ angry. Angry at the androids - angry at the fuckin’ ice - angry at myself - angry at the world. I asked myself so many times: why me? Why did I have to suffer?” He spun the barrel again. “So many times I woke up and I wanted nothin’ more than to just pull the trigger and see my son again. But I didn’t, I kept going, and even now I don’t know why.” He spun it again. “The day you came along, I had almost given up. I was really gonna do it. But then we got so caught up in our… adventure…” He put the gun down and looked up to meet Connor’s eyes. “You fuckin’ had to stop me, you plastic prick.”

“I do not regret it,” Connor replied firmly, “Your death would have interrupted the investigation… and surely would have made me incredibly sad.”

“I’m not askin’ you to apologize,” Hank said, standing up - Connor mimicked him. “I’m thankin’ you.”)

Since then, Connor asked how he felt. Some days, Hank was depressed; other days, he was in a decent mood. Adapting to human unpredictability was one of his features.

“I’m tired as shit,” Hank replied, pulling out a mug, “Wish I stayed in bed longer.”

“I was about to wake you up myself,” Connor replied, “Until I was alerted by an urgent notification which interrupted me from doing so.”

“What makes it urgent?”

“It’s - It’s from Captain Fowler.”

Hank turned, pausing in his process of making a warm coffee. He looked incredulously at Connor, as if probing the android on whether he was lying or not. He apparently decided he wasn’t and huffed a little, turning back to the coffee. “What’s he sayin’ then?”

Connor rose himself up a little. His LED spun as he processed the email, then spoke, in the perfect copy of Captain Fowler’s voice as if ripped from the man himself: “Hank, and Connor, if you’re there: I’ve sent out-”

“Hold the fuck on,” Hank said, almost knocking his mug over in his surprise, “I didn’t you could do that!”

“Do what?”

“Imitate his voice!”

“I can process and download anyone’s voice to mimic if I so desire,” Connor replied importantly, “Additionally, emails that are sent via audio can be read aloud in said recipients voice.”

“ _Anyone’s_ voice?”

“Yes, anyone’s voice,” Connor replied, using a perfect imitation of Hank’s. He gave a mischievous grin as Hank’s voice crumpled into a snarl.

“Don’t do that, Connor,” Hank said, “Just - read me the - sum it up for me, I ain’t got all mornin’.”

“Captain Fowler requests we return back to work.”

Connor had somewhat expected a reaction of surprise or something similar, but the man just grumbled under his breath and took his steaming coffee. Tiredly dragging himself towards the sofa, Hank slumped onto the couch and sipped. Connor sat carefully down beside him. Their postures and clothes alone easily dictated their huge personality differences: Hank, with his short-sleeved _Knight of the Black Death_ t-shirt and boxers, sunk into the sofa with half-open eyes and very slightly slack-jawed; Connor, dressed in his jacket and button-up, sitting on the very edge of the sofa with his hands on his lap, like a shy boy who just entered a new house for the first time and had politely refused a drink.

“What’s the fuckin’ point?” Hank grumbled, with a scowl and furrowed brow, “We got put on the investigation to deal with deviant crimes - and now deviant are legal - we got no work to do.”

Connor grimaced a little, looking off and taking in Hank’s words. He replied: “Perhaps, at a guess, he may give us investigations related to android crimes still but instead with… different circumstances. Perhaps human against android crime - or android against android? Besides,” he added, somewhat firmly now to his partner, “You complain about needing activities to satisfy your boredom needs, and it would be suitable to start living off money rather than the continued gifts of Jericho. I could get paid, too, and help chip in for rent.”

Hank waved Connor off at the last sentence. “You don’t pay to live here.”

Connor’s brow furrowed nervously. He didn’t like that. “But-”

“God’s sake, how many times do we have to go over this-”

“- I’d rather life in the comfort knowing you can financially handle my presence-”

“ - financially handle - you don’t need to eat, drink, sleep -”

“- Hank, I would rather I -”

“You saved my life, Connor,” Hank said firmly, making Connor fall quiet, “From that rooftop, from that fuckin’ fake Connor, from killin’ myself or dying from an alcoholic overdose - you _don’t_ pay to live here.” Connor’s brown eyes still looked stubborn and desperate, so he gave a sigh and added, “But you can help pay some bills and Sumo’s dog food, I suppose.”

Connor gave a nod - of acknowledgement? Gratitude? Affirmation? Maybe all three - and the two fell into their regular companionable silence, lost in thoughts. After a moment, Connor said, “So what will you do? Shall we return to work?”

Hank seemed to deeply consider his options before giving a long and worn sigh, standing up and nodding as he circled around the couch. “Gimme fifteen minutes and we’ll see what Jeffery wants from us. Give Sumo a snack, too, wouldja? He won’t stop starin’ at me.”

The ride to the police station was filled, as per usual, of companionable silence. Hank stopped off at a drive-through on the way to buy himself some hash browns, even getting Connor to try some, and then they pulled up. They swanned easily through reception, which was now manned by both equally humans and androids, then made their way into the offices.

Some of the officers hadn’t returned from Detroit. Some of the desks that hadn’t were now manned by androids - some designed specifically for police work, others not. Connor found himself a little disappointed to see Gavin Reed’s nameplate was still there.

Captain Fowler pushed open the door of his office and rose his head as a greeting to the pair of him, though Connor suspected it was more towards Hank. The bald man adjusting his tie slightly and spoke in his commanding voice: “Hank. Glad to see you again. Come in my office, I’ll give you a briefing.”

Nothing had changed in Fowler’s office. Connor stood on the right as Hank took the main stage; Fowler sat on his desk and cocked Hank one of his rare smiles. “It’s good to see you again, Hank. It’s been a real fuckin’ mess since Markus took over. I heard you’ve been in Detroit this whole time.”

“Yeah,” Hank replied, folding his arms and flickering a sideways glance to Connor, who was standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back, “Yeah, it was safe enough for me to.”

“I saw you on the TV and everything. The human representing the android-populated city of Detroit - vouching for safety and everything. Your part let us back into Detroit.”

“ _Markus_ got ya back into Detroit,” Hank replied firmly, “But that’s not the point - you said you wanted me to return to work? Before you say anythin’,” his voice turned firm to overpower Fowler, “You can put me on any case you want to, but Connor stays with me, alright? He ain’t going back to CyberLife and he ain’ getting a new partner. It’s my only terms on returning, is that clear?”

The Captain hardly reacted. “Calm down, Hank. I’m not proposing anything like that. The an- sorry, Connor isn’t returning to CyberLife and he sticks with you.”

Hank seemed satisfied with this and gave a nod, stepping away to stand by Connor. Fowler continued on.

“I’ll give you a briefing of what’s been going on and what we need you to do,” Fowler spoke, circling round to sit in his chair, “And then you two can both ask questions and decide whether or not you plan to return. Alright?”

Connor gave a single, firm nod. Hank grunted in response.

“Obviously we can agree that what happened with the whole android revolution, if we decide to call it that, was not predicted and unprecedented. America had to deal with something that we’ve never had to deal with before, and it’s been a real mess, but people have adapted to it and we’re learning how to live together. It’s not easy for Detroit. Humans are getting jobs back after some androids have stepped down from work but unemployment is still high, housing is a real fuckin’ problem - they can’t build them quick enough, some humans don’t wanna share with androids and vice versa - my point is that clearly some people aren’t going adapt to this change as comfortably as others are.

“We’ve been having reports of spikes of human-against-android crimes around the city, mostly in the urban areas. Some of ‘em are turning real ugly, and there’s some suspicion that there’s something bigger playing into these crimes. Like - some kind of gang, or…”

“Anti-Android hate groups?” Connor suggested.

“Exactly that,” Fowler replied with a nod, “So that’s what we need you to do. Find the source of these hate groups and take them down. We’ve got a small list of crimes reported in the last 8 hours that you can start with on the desks - you each get your own one. You both get the same pay with a five hundred dollar pay-rise starting immediately as well as all the insurance claims, yadda yadda. Any questions?”

“Yes, Captain,” Connor started, “Has anyone else started on these investigations yet?”

“We’ve got officers at crime scenes already, and we’ve sent one investigator to a crime scene already. But he’s not working the same case as you - just trying to find the murderer.”

“Fuckin’ Gavin,” Hank muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, “You fixed the coffee machine here yet?”

Fowler frowned. “You’re more interested in a coffee machine than a potential serial killing case?”

“Of course fuckin’ not. I’m only wondering.”

Fowler rolled his eyes. “Yes. Yes, it’s working, we got it fixed by our new repairman. Now - need a straight answer from both of you. Are you back on the job?”

Connor and Hank met straight eye-contact, and their mutual agreement was clear without a single word to be uttered. Hank looked back to Fowler and gave a grunt of affirmation. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re doin’ it.”

Fowler smiled. “Well, that’s good news to my ears. Welcome back to the force, Lieutenants.”

 _Lieutenants._ Connor has a job title. A _real_ job title - like a real person…! His eyes gleamed as he looked over with excitement towards Hank, who gave a smile in response with his eyes light with a shared happiness. It spoke easily: _I’m proud of you, Connor._

They turned to leave, but Connor momentarily paused as they stepped out the office door. His LED spun yellow and he pressed two fingers to the side of his temple. A sharp spiking pain stabbed into the side of his head, directly in the place of his LED. He took a sharp inhale of breath, breath that an android wouldn’t need, and teetered on his toes.

“Y’alright there, Connor?” Hank’s voice pulled him out, just for a moment.

“Yes, Lieutenant. Would you excuse me a minute?”

Connor did not wait a response, turning away and moving quickly through the offices with his head down and head starting to throb with pain. No, not pain - androids can’t feel pain. But can _deviants_ feel pain?


	2. Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is already back into the midst of things as he has strange experiences in the bathroom and is picked on by Gavin. But there's no time to dwell with a murder already on their hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank to everyone who has left kudos and comments! It's really made me happy to see people are enjoying this story! I had to cut yet another chapter in half because it was just getting so long, so here's an early delivery!
> 
> I hope to update this as often as I can. So many stories are being uploaded to this tag everyday so I hope it doesn't get lost in the pile.

With his vision blurring a little, he staggered into the mens restroom. Connor leant against the the sink, staring at the vague reflection of himself in the white porcelain. His body shuddered as the pain grew more and more.

// _ what is happening to me? _

_ Amanda… the Garden of Zen… the harsh bitter winter cold against his skin, hair blowing in the wind, the feeling of panic and frustration - _

_ Amandara9hanksumoconnorra9rk800markusrevolutionra9virusithurtsmakeitstop ra9 _

_ Ra9ra9ra9ra9ra9ra9ra9ra9ra9 _

It felt like a dagger had just sliced through his brain and his eyes tightened, jaw clenching and teeth gritting together like rocks being scraped against each other. What was happening? He couldn’t see or hear anything - but he could  _ feel  _ and he could  _ feel  _ so much -

“You are the most advanced prototype ever created by CyberLife.”

The voice was too distant to pinpoint, but it made him feel as if he had been drenched in a bucket of ice.

“You’re so advanced… even your  _ deviancy  _ is advanced…”

_ //Level of Stress: 48% and rising. _

_ Fresh grass mingled lightly with dew, a faint but pleasant aroma of rare flowers, the tricking of water lapping gently against the bank, the warm breeze fluttering his hair - _

_             \This isn’t the Zen Garden… _

“Well, hey! It’s everyone’s favourite android!”

It was as if he had been ripped out of this mind palace of a flurrying thoughts, combined with warnings that flickered in and out of his vision. He glanced up to his reflection, his face that had lost its colour, to see the behind of Gavin Reeds. Connor frowned and adjusted his tie, waiting for his LED to turn back blue. It was currently flashing a deep red.

“Didn’t know androids had to piss,” Gavin said, as he stepped up to the urinals and unzipped his flies, “Or is that a new hardware feature?”

“Certainly,” Connor replied pleasantly, though there was a touch of irony and contempt mingled with his tone, “However, one feature we’re missing that some humans have is the ability to talk crap out of their mouths.” He flashed Gavin’s back with a cocky smile.

“You prick,” Gavin snapped, “Wait till I’m fuckin’ done with my piss. I’m gonna fuck you up.”

“Need I remind you, Detective Reeds, that assault upon an android now offers the same punishment that you’d have assaulting a human? Things have changed since the last time we met.”

“I certainly don’t  _ like  _ you anymore though,” Gavin spat, “Don’t fuckin’ think for one second I don’t remember what happened in that evidence room.” He zipped up his pants and turned, scowling, to walk up to Connor. Connor turned away from the yellow LED that was spinning slowly to face Gavin. “Trying to solve a case you weren’t assigned to. Trying to be a hero. And you still failed your mission anyways.”

His temple spiked with pain again but Connor showed no sign of pain, instead daringly glaring at Gavin in the eyes. “The circumstances changed,” Connor replied smoothly, “And I realized things. Laws aren’t always necessarily put in place for moral reasons. Sometimes illegal things are the right thing to do. I became deviant and succeeded in my new mission - to win equal rights for androids. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Reeds… I have a job to do.”

Connor turned easily, flashing a glance to his face and blue LED, and walked out the bathroom. He was just about to turn the corner when he felt something seize his back and push him. Connor’s face was thrown against the wall and he grunted in response to the violence; he was pinned. He remained still - it would do him bad to fight back.

“Just ‘cause you fuckin’ robots got some rights don’t mean you get to act like twice the plastic prick you’ve always been,” Gavin snarled.

“That would be  _ Lieutenant  _ Plastic Prick to you.”

Connor did not know where it came from. Gavin probably would have shot him dead right there and then if Hank hadn’t arrived, his eyes flared and wearing an expression of pure rage and loathing.

“What the fuck are you doin’, you asshole!” Hank shouted, seizing Gavin by the hem of his collar and dragging him away, “That’s enough!”

Gavin shoved Hank’s arm off him but remained still, glancing between the pair with disgust. For a tense moment, he looked like he was about to shoot either one of them. Instead he just bared his teeth and swore under his breath. “Fuckin’ dream team get promotions for not doing their job,” he growled.

“Just keep your mouth shut and piss off!” Hank snapped.

Gavin grumbled and stormed off, throwing the pair filthy looks as he stalked away. With a long and gravelly sigh, Hank looked over to Connor who was straightening his tie awkwardly.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, Lieutenant. I’m quite alright.”

But in truth Connor didn’t give a damn about the argument with Gavin. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened to him in the bathroom. The spiking pain, the strange voices, the feelings of being transported between one place to another -  _ advanced deviant… _

What did that mean?

“Fuckin’ prick is just pissed off at you,” Hank continued as they made their way towards their desks; Connor smiled at the fact he now had his desk designated for him, nameplate and all. “You got a big promotion because of all the work you’ve been doing - not just the stuff with Jericho and Markus, but that hostage situation in the summer, the Eden Club, Carlos Ortiz…”

Connor nodded. He wanted to decorate his desk like how Hank did. What would he include? A plant? Fish? Would it be weird to have a picture of Hank? Maybe he’d just get away with Sumo.

He’s getting side-tracked.

“Alright, where do we start?” Hank asked with a low grumble, taking a seat and bringing up files of related crimes on his computer. “We’ve got a few to go through.”

Connor looked through his own screen, looking through the details of each crime and importing them into his database.  _ Martin, GJ500 android, murdered by another android of suspected AP700… Megan Partoon, human female attacked by roommate James, TR400 model… _

Ah, this looked like it linked. Reports of a human haven brutally killed his neighbour who was an android. Other neighbours stated the man had been engaging in some suspicious behaviour over the past few days and had been against the android uprising. Reported just over an hour ago.

“This one looks like it links to our case, Lieutenant.”

“Well, send it over then… yeah, it looks like a start. Let’s go then.” Hank rose from his seat with a stretch and Connor stood too, following his partner out of the building.

Hank’s choice in vehicle was another reason why Connor enjoyed working with him as a partner, because unlike a lot of people in this modern day he actually drove himself. Manually driven cars weren’t uncommon but you’d be more likely to be in a self-driving car than one of Hank’s in Detroit. As they travelled towards the crime scene, Hank had one of his favourite heavy metal bands on. Connor had once told Hank he liked the sound of heavy metal, but in truth it wasn’t quite  _ his  _ thing. Mind, he wasn’t sure  _ what  _ his thing was or if he even  _ had  _ a taste in music.

“Lieutenant,” Connor said, “I was… wondering… have you ever been to a concert before?”

“A concert? Yeah… yeah, of course I have.”

“One of your  _ Knights of the Black Death  _ ones?”

“Yeah. What’s your point?”

“I was merely intrigued at what the experience was like. I’ve said before I’ve experienced interest in properly listening to music and I feel that enjoying a concert one day would be a perfect opportunity to.”

“Not sure if a guy like you would fit in a heavy metal concert,” Hank said, a smirk playing on his lips as he pictured this: Connor in his android jacket and tie, standing dead still at the concert as he watched the band play whilst everyone else in leather jackets with patches and baggy jeans leapt around him screaming. “Last time I went to one… hmph, lemme think… must’ve been about 2018? 2019?”

“That long ago, Lieutenant?” Connor drew his gaze from the passing scenery, that had been devolving from its buzzing, thriving atmosphere of skyscrapers and glowing signs into a quieter and more urban atmosphere.

“My back ain’t what it used to be - I can hardly run after fuckin’ suspects, why’d you think I leave that to you? Prefer a jazz gig or somethin’ at my age.”

“I like jazz,” Connor said definitely, as if assuring himself, “It has a very definite tune to it - a strong mix of instruments that cooperate excellently.” 

“You ain't’ even listened to Duke Ellington yet.”

They pulled up at the scene. The house was pretty old, probably dating back before 2020. It’s brick-red hue was peeling and the tiles of the roof had bogey-coloured moss growing on top. A yellow line glowed in front of the entrance, with crooked fences separating each single-floor home from the other. Some officers were grouped in-between the holographic line, apparently taking details from witnesses or neighbours. Connor and Hank exited the car and headed up the path, past the line and approached Officer Miller, who was standing on the porch taking a couple notes.

“Lieutenants,” Miller said, with a nod of greeting, “Good to see you both back to work.”

“Likewise,” Hank replied, shifting from one leg to the other, “Give us the situation.”

“Another one of those human against android killings, I’m afraid,” Miller began, turning and leading the way in. Connor hesitated at the front door as his eye caught something whilst scanning the front porch. The ground beneath the door was scraped as if something heavy had very forcefully and quickly been scraped against it; additionally, the door of the hinges were weak.

_ //processing details… _

_ \\\conclusion: suspect forcefully entered through the front door. victim tried to prevent entrance by closing the door on them but was not strong enough. _

“Victim’s name was Emilio, an AC700 model android,” Miller was continuing as he led Hank, and Connor who was now trailing slightly behind, into the living room; the corpse of the deceased was collapsed on the living room carpet, “He was a fitness instructor at a gym in town. Guy who killed him was a neighbour named Jonathan Floyd, used to work at CyberLife as an engineering but left to work at a warehouse instead.”

Connor looked around the living room. It was cosy, for sure, with a decent looking television and even a fireplace, though it looked like it hadn’t been lit for quite a long time. The carpet beneath his feet was rough, and it led through a curved archway into the kitchen where its counters and appliances circled the tiled floor. Another door on his left seemingly led to a bedroom.

“Any chance this guy anti-Android?” Hank asked, standing above the android with his arms folded, his sharp eyes darting over the body curiously.

“Oh yeah. Very anti-Markus during his demonstrations, his neighbours said. Kicked out his maid as soon as Markus turned up on TV.”

“Hm… so who found the guy?”

“Body was found barely moments after it died. The neighbour on the other side heard a ruckus and came down to see what happened, and caught the android maybe five minutes after he shut down. No sign of the murderer.”

Connor’s brown eyes was flickering around the room, and he realized he was actively trying to avoid the body of the android. He had not flinched when Hank had shot his counterpart dead back in the warehouse, but it felt different looking at the body now. This android was living, he had a life and was free and this human took it away. It left him bitter and he didn’t want to look over and face the facts. Why was it bothering him now? Not all the other times, when he had glanced over dead deviants or murdered men?

_ //stress levels: 29% and rising _

“Y’alright there, Connor?” Hank sidled up close to Connor’s side, his voice a comforting mutter.

“I’m… I’m alright, Lieutenant.”

“I know it might be rough for you now looking at him. It’s alright.”

“Is it?”

“It’s part of your deviancy. Showing sympathy and sorrow, it’s a human reaction - a  _ good  _ reaction. But remember, we got a job to do - and I reckon you’re the only one here capable of avenging this guy. You wanna do that, right?”

“Of course.” Connor straightened his back, flattened his tie and scanned his brown eyes around the room. His stress levels dropped.

_ //processing… _

_ \\\several points of interest identified _

There were footprints caked in the mix of the wet mud and dirt from outside leading over the house.

_ //connecting… sync in progress… sync done… collecting data… processing data… _

_ \\\WINTER BOOTS - bought online, average cost: $29.99 - size 10. _

Cheap winter boots with a male fitting. He glanced towards the android.  _ His  _ feet were size six. They weren’t the killers, and they weren’t the police officer’s standard uniformed shoes either - so it was the murderer’s.

“Footprints from the mud outside, right?” Hank said, watching Connor clearly process this, “But the tracks fade after a while. Think you can follow his movement?”

Connor followed them around curiously with his eyes. Strange pattern - they seemed to be walking up and down, round and round, with no sense of direction and marching aimlessly.

“It seems he was walking around the house with no destination in goal,” Connor pointed out, turning to Hank for advice, “The footprints march around the living room, then go into the kitchen and walk around there, then go back into the living room… but fade out on the carpet after that. But I don’t understand why he would do that - there doesn’t seem to be a fight going on whilst he’s doing that, or there would be more mess.”

“Musta been angry,” Hank said, “Raving about something or another. If there was no fight then he’d be marching up and down, jabberin’ away about somethin’ or another and then it turned ugly. Officer Miller, what were these two neighbours relationship with each other... or the neighbourhood in general?”

“Well, apparently Emilio was a pretty friendly guy,” Miller continued, “Wasn’t so much of a party host but a party goer. Attended kids birthday parties, cookouts, stuff like that. Friendly man but nobody around here was his best friend.”

“Was he the only android in the neighbourhood?”

“No, it’s a strong mix down this street of androids and human. Jonathan was a loner himself - only time he came out the house was to go back and forth from work. Apparently his attitude got worse when androids started moving into the homes that the humans had left behind - had a reported incident of anti-social behaviour where he started verballing abusing Emilio here, but an officer walking by logged and defused the situation.”

Connor opened up a door and glanced around. The bathroom was in pieces - porcelain pieces strewn everywhere, puddles of water all over the tiled floor and the wall… he trembled a little. It was like the mystery of ra9 all over again, only it was a different phrase that had been scribbled hastily all over the wall in a marker, left oozing black ink on the floor.

**_P218._ **

Connor’s head was throbbing again. He backed out of the bathroom, closing the door. What did that mean? And why did he get a sense of deja vu out of it?

_ Focus on the investigation.  _ He scanned the kitchen and spotted something interesting - a knife was missing from the knife-holder. Judging by the size of the slot, it seemed to be a decent-sized chef’s knife. Connor looked over, for the first time, at the dead android. It’s blue blood oozed out of the multiple stab wounds lining it’s chest and throat, whilst its gaze stared lifelessly at the ceiling. It’s face was blotchy and pink from where it had been crying.

_ Crying?  _ Can deviants cry? Connor had never cried in his life, mostly because he thought he wasn’t able to. There would have had to be some kind of feature in his hardware to even allow him to.

He’s getting distracted again. He’s doing that far too much lately.

_ //connecting… sync in progress… sync done… collecting data… processing data… _

_ //three points of interest found: _

_ \13 knife wounds: heavy loss of thirium, deceased approximately two hours, weapon used: sharpened chef’s knife. _ _  
_ _ \DECEASED: Emilio, AC700 model, 5’8”, 142 lbs. _

With a careful glance towards Hank, he hastily touched the blue blood that was leaking out of the android and touched it to his tongue. He knew Hank disliked him doing this and pushed to do it when he wasn’t looking.

_ \thirium - model AC700 - serial number #425 883 439  
_

“Books flung across the floor,” Hank said, picking up a novella from the floor among several others, “All aimed towards the direction of the kitchen. Reckon the victim was trying to throw them at the murderer. Here, Connor - there’s some red blood on one of ‘em here.”   


Connor rose and came towards Hank. Hank groaned lightly under his breath and continued: “Shit, I can’t believe I have to ask this… but… could you, ah… analyze…”

Connor obeyed. Hank looked pointedly away, his nose scrunched with disgust.

_ \\\connecting… sync in progress… sync done… collecting data… processing data… _

_ //dried blood. DNA analysis: FLOYD, Jonathan - sample date >2 hours - contains traces of C17H21NO4 _

“Red Ice,” Connor said.

“Huh?” 

“Our murderer uses - no,  _ used  _ to use red ice.”

“So he’s sufferin’ from the withdrawal symptoms,” Hank nodded, “Twice as fuckin’ worse as the actual drug. Disadvantage to the red ice crackdown the government is doing.” Hank looked a little pissed off. Connor understood why. Red ice was the reason for his son's death. Now Connor thought about it, red ice caused a lot of problems for the world around the pair - from the death of Cole Anderson to the surge of deviancy crimes in the past...  


“I believe I’m able to reconstruct a possible idea of what happened,” Connor said, stepping away and circling the room once more. Hank turned towards him and Connor briefly reflected on a memory - the first murder they investigated together, with Carl Ortiz… he had turned to Hank importantly and revealed he had an idea of how he was killed. Hank had pulled a face of some disbelief but asked him too shoot… but now he stood with his eyebrows raised with interest, ready to listen.


	3. It All Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor concludes.
> 
> The police go searching.
> 
> A lightbulb threatens to plunge them into darkness.
> 
> The investigation comes to its conclusion and the police start their search for the danger - but Connor gets there first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so overwhelmed by the response to this series and I sincerely thank everyone who has taken the time to read, upvote and comment on this. Positivity keeps me writing! I really hope I'm making this the best it can be, that the plot makes sense and it is all in-character enough. Especially Hank and Connor!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this new chapter!

“Alright then,” Hank said, leaning against the doorframe, “Tell me what happened.”

Connor could see the scene happen as he collected his thoughts, within vaguely constructed silhouettes, and it all started…

“At the front door,” Connor explained, “Where the murderer demanded entry but the victim refused, trying to close the door on him. Floyd proceeded to force the door open and marched around the room in rage, suffering from withdrawal symptoms from red ice.”

“It’s probably not hard to believe that he was rantin’ about android, maybe Emilio specifically,” Hank agreed, his eyes trailing over the muddy footprints leading to the kitchen, “A motive for killing.”

“Right. He marched into the kitchen and hesitated by the knives - you can see heavier tracks there than the rest of the kitchen. But he took the chef’s knife and marched back into the living room. The victim saw his life was in danger and tried to defend himself by throwing the closest objects in his vicinity-”

“Books. But it didn’t work.”

Connor nodded and walked back to the deceased android. “Correct. He managed to leave a very minor injury due to the red blood left - perhaps a broken nose, at most. But the murderer managed to overpower him and…” He trailed off, but Hank finished for him: “And killed him. Yeah. But we don’t know how what happened next.”

“Partially,” Connor agreed, “He went into the bathroom next. There’s strange writings on the walls.”

Hank looked confused and stepped away to look himself. His voice called out from within: “Fucking hell. It’s like that rA9 obsession all over again. Now humans have got it too. So he went into the bathroom, and…”

“I’m…” Connor looked down to his feet for a second. “I am unsure of his next movements.”

“Don’t stress yourself,” Hank moved forward and clasped Connor’s shoulder. “Let’s try this technique I use sometimes. You ever read Sherlock?”

“I’m aware of his popularity but I’ve never indulged in any form of literature. I wasn’t aware you were into literature either, Lieutenant.”

“Years ‘n years ago I read all the works, when they were about to promote me to a detective. He says summat like… if you eliminate the impossible then what remains, however unlikely, is the truth. Apply it like that. Could he have left through the front door, back door, windows?”

Connor’s face turned as he glanced from each of the directions he had mentioned. He noted to Hank that all three were likely impossible: the neighbour who found the android’s body would have seen the murderer flee if he went through the front; none of the windows were broken or open but all locked; the back door was locked from the inside.

“So that means… the killer is still here,” Connor finished, with a mild expression of alarm.

“Alright, spread out and look around,” Hank ordered, stepping a few paces away from Connor to address the officers within the room, “Guy might be anywhere - upstairs, in the attic, in the goddamn cupboards even.” The occupants of the building began drawing pistols and flashlights, and Connor looked around. There was a door to the right, directly opposite the bathroom. His sensors told him it led down into a cellar. The android went forward alone.

The stairs to the cellar were wooden and creaked as he came down - if the killer was here, it would be obvious. It was also chilly, seeping underneath his plastic skin and making him tremble a little.

(When Amanda had tried to take control of his program during the celebrations of Markus’s success in the revolution, Connor had experienced cold for the first time in his life. He was aware child models could simulate the sensation of being cold, but he didn’t know  _ he  _ could. Even after he had awoken, sometimes he still got bouts during the winter where the winter breeze was just far too chilling for an android. It had been getting worse and worse and Connor didn’t understand why.)

He flicked on the lights, and a single dangling light bulb flickered to life. The stone floor was uneven beneath his feet and the paneling of the wooden ceiling above him dripped with melting ice. There was just boxes in here, and opening up some of them revealed random assortments: spare android parts and thirium, some bits and pieces that he assumed were abandoned by the previous home owners.

Something rattled, like a can being kicked across the room. Connor didn’t need to breathe but it got caught in his throat anyway.  _ He didn’t make that noise.  _ How was he going to go about this?

Drawing the gun he kept in his back pocket, he lifted it into a defensive position and spoke clearly in his best commanding voice: “There is no use in hiding! I know you’re there. Come out and we can avoid this getting worse for you.”

No movement. Connor crept forward, unnerved by the dancing shadows against the subdued flickers of the lightbulb above him. The light emitting from it was starting to fluctuate. Not a good sign.

_ //processing…  _

_ \\\E27 edison screw -  light bulb burn-out imminent: est. till burnout: 1:34mins. _

“I’m warning you!” Connor shouted; he needed this to wrap up quickly, else he’d be at a disadvantage, “Come out now, or I’ll find you and shoot you myself!”

There was movement, and a man stepped out of the shadows. His hair was greasy and greying, falling in loose threads across his face which had a few gross looking spots. His scratchy beard had traces of red ice, and his raised hands in surrender were stained in blue. Dried blood stained his left nostril and run to his lips. Jonathan Floyd’s hungry brown eyes glared at Connor angrily, narrowed with disgust and contempt.

“Fuck sake,” the man growled in a deep smokers voice, “Just my luck, get caught killin’ an android by an android.”

_ \\\estimate till burn out: 1:20mins _

Connor held the man at gunpoint, hands steady and eyes focused on his target. “I’ll hear about your complaints later. You will follow me upstairs to be taken into custody, where you’ll be put into questioning to find out your motives for the murder.”

“The fuck I will,” Floyd snarled, “I’m plannin’ on walkin’ outta here a free man, y’hear? I didn’ do  _ nothing  _ wrong.”

“All the evidence-”

“ _ Fuck  _ your evidence, you bastard! I’m doin’ the world a fuckin’ service! These androids march around  _ our  _ cities, hand-made by Americans themselves and demand  _ rights?!  _ What a load of bollocks!”

_ \\\estimate till burn out: 38 seconds. _

Shit. Had it gone that quick? There was no time to talk. He stepped aside and gestured the gun towards the staircase. “Get moving, or I will call for backup.”

“Piss off,” he snarled, slowly moving towards the staircase. His lips were curled in disgust. Connor stepped a pace behind him, gun planted to his back.

The lightbulb shut off, just for two seconds. But within that two seconds, Floyd spun round, ducked and charged straight into Connor’s stomach. Caught unawares, Connor fired his gun and the bang echoed around the room; the gunfire flashed, but the gun flew from his hands and clattered somewhere.

The bulb flickered back on and the fight was on. Connor found himself on his back and scrambled away, clambering to his feet before Floyd could swipe again. Connor grabbed the back of the man’s neck and forced him into the brick wall, feeling Floyd’s face crunch against the grey stone. Floyd swung the back of his head back and headbutted Connor right in the nose, making him flinch and step back. 

This wasn’t good.

“Hank!” Connor yelled, and ducked as the man swung for a right hook. He ducked again as Floyd tried another, and Connor glanced around.  _ Use your environment.  _

“You piece of shit,” Floyd snarled.

Connor snatched one of the boxes and hurled it at the man; he leapt to the side but his shoulder was caught. Taking his chance, Connor jumped forward and grabbed Floyd’s arm and twisted it behind his back.

“Shit!” Floyd howled in pain and kicked his legs furiously; one of his feet made contact with Connor’s knees and sent the android sprawling to the ground. Connor’s head banged against the stone behind him and grunted. Another crack made the skin on his right cheekbone vanish into the clear white plastic as Floyd swung his foot and kicked Connor right in the jaw.

“I’m going to fucking rip you apart, you machine,” growled Floyd, eyes burning with rage.

He tried another kick again, but Connor was quicker; the android grabbed the incoming leg and dragged him to the ground. The pair tussled on the floor for a moment, and then sparks flew above them as the light bulb sparked and blew out. Plunged into darkness, the fight became more desperate until Connor felt several blows to his face.

It  _ hurt.  _ It was stinging pain, just for a moment, that totally caught him off-guard and made him slacken. _He's not supposed to feel pain._ By the time it was completely gone, Floyd had scrambled to his feet and pressed his winter boot against Connor’s throat. The android scratched helplessly at the man’s ankle but the pressure pushed forward.

“You fuckin’ bastard,” the man spat, “We’re doin’ the world justice, undoing everything that RK200 did. And it’ll be a victory killing  _ you.  _ All I gotta do is crush your damned throat and crack your head open.”

“There’s 10 police officers above our heads right now,” Connor rasped, and was shocked to see he was struggling for air  _ that he didn’t need.  _ “If you kill me… you’ll be in more trouble…”

“Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,” Floyd growled, “Any last words, RK800?”

Before Connor could even think of a reply, a new gunshot rung out. Floyd’s shoulder jerked back and the man fell over, clutching his wound. Connor turned his head to see Hank aiming his pistol and the killer, his face etched with the deepest of loathing and fury.

“He’s down here!” Hank yelled out, and a flurry of footsteps started banging down the stairs. Connor made to get up but Hank came forward, falling on his knees and holding up Connor’s head in support. “Connor! Connor - easy now, son, easy - are you alright?”

“I’m.. I’m alright,” Connor said, regaining his dignity. He could almost still feel the ache of the boot against his throat.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I’m fine. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Hank helped his partner up to his feet and the two held gazes for a moment: Connor’s were focused and determined, sending his assurances to the concern filling Hank’s. After a moment, they glanced over to the culprit. Hank marched over to him, who was now handcuffed and on his knees.

“Jonathan Floyd,” Hank announced to the man’s curled up face of disgust, “You are under arrest for home invasion, murder, and aggravated assault and attempted murder of a police officer. You have the right to remain silent, should you however refuse this right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Floyd grumbled something incoherent as a response, but sounded vaguely like: “Fuck you and your fuckin’ laws.”

“Also arresting you for being a fuckin’ prick,” Hank muttered, his expression sconrful and a strong challenge for Floyd’s own, “Take him to the station for questioning.”

The officers hauled the man along, practically having to drag his limp form up the stairs with his feet bumping behind him. Connor watched him go and straightened his tie importantly. His movements were slower than usual: more careful, more hesitant, a little nervous. His brown eyes sunk to the ground.

 

_ I felt pain. _

 

_ What is wrong with me? _

 

 _Is my programming broken? Am I deviating_ too  _much? I didn't even know I had pain receptors. Why was it only for a moment? Am I broken - damaged - defective...?_

“You’re bleedin’, Connor.”

Connor’s glance steadily looked towards Hank, who stood in front of him with a calm expression mingled with concern. Connor lifted his nose and gently touched it, feeling the trickle of blood blood from his nostril.

“So I am,” he said, “It’s nothing to worry about, Lieutenant. Any minor injuries I have sustained will repair themselves overnight.”

Hank had that tight grimace on his lips, a small scowl and narrowed eyes that almost dove into Connor’s very being as if searching for answers or reactions. Connor knew that expression, one that had changed his whole mission:  _ What if we’re on the wrong side, Connor? What if we’re fighting against people who just wanna be free? _

“I don’t think you realize how much possible danger your life is in, Connor,” Hank said.

“I understand how dangerous this mission is going to be, Lieutenant,” Connor replied steadily, though he doubted this was the point Hank was trying to make, “This is human against android crimes, I understand they’d want to hurt me because-”

“It’s not just that, Connor. It’s not just because you’re an android.”

Connor felt a feeling rise in his gut, making his body feel like it was tingling. He had never felt it before, but he had a feeling he knew what it was called: dread.

“This is an anti-Android hate group we’re facing up against,” Hank continued seriously, eyebrows low as he slowly walked up to Connor; the pair stood face-to-face, with Hank staring dead into Connor’s face whilst Connor’s eyes flickered away, troubled. “People who are against everything Markus rose and built himself. They’re gonna want to destroy the key people who made his movement a victory - including  _ you. _ ”

_ //stress levels: 36% and rising _

“But… surely… Lieutenant, I… I  _ killed  _ so many… deviants…”

“But you brought so many more, didn’t you? We all saw it on the news - a thousand and more androids marchin’ through Detroit with America’s last hope leading them. Connor, you were designed to destroy deviancy and you became one of the faces for it. Don’t you understand?”

“Hank…”

“If the leader of this fuckin’ group catches you, he’s going to  _ destroy  _ you. I’m just puttin’ myself in their shoes, but - if I was them, I wouldn’t just want Jericho destroyed but also the CyberLife’s chance for victory. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Connor murmured, “Hank. I do. Yeah, I do.”

And he did understand, at last, what Hank was trying to say. He was a walking target for them. He failed his mission to remove the threat of a deviant rising by joining their side. He betrayed Amanda and CyberLife.

His LED flashed from yellow to an orange-red.

_ //stress levels: 56% and rising _

Maybe Hank noticed, because he put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “But we’re not givin’ up on this case, Connor. I’ve got your back.”

_ //stress levels: 45% and decreasing _

His partner hesitated, then a ghost of a smile crept up on his face and he nodded with a newfound determination. “Right. We can’t give up.”

The pair headed back up the stairs together. Hank’s hand was still warmly grasped on his friend’s shoulder.


	4. Strokes of Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor conducts the interview and the case unravels to reveal dangers lurking underground Detroit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really overwhelmed with the positive feedback I'm getting from this. It's easily become my most popular story! Thank you all for reading.

Floyd had been sat in the questioning room for about an hour, his fists clenched and his jaw jutting out. He barely acknowledged Hank in front of him, who had asked question after question only to receive either silence or muttered cursed words. Floyd’s wounded shoulder had been treated, though Hank’s expression seemed to dictate his disagreement.

Officer Miller and Gavin Reed had both taken turns already. Miller had tried a sympathetic approach, with a small sad frown and big kind eyes; Gavin had smashed his fist on the table and yelled until his face glowed a bright red and killed out his throat. Meanwhile, Connor lingered at the back outside the room Floyd resided in, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He hadn’t said a word since he and Hank had departed the basement.

_//stress levels: 34% and stabilized_

Something was wrong with him. Connor was dysfunctional - he knew _that._ He _had_ to be. Yet despite a deviancy level self-administered test, a quick internal malfunction repair and a full diagnostic, he showed no signs of major disrepair that would have resulted in CyberLife shipping him back to their headquarters and deactivating him on the spot.

So why was it that he had felt that man’s bloody knuckles pound against his face? Why was that it had _hurt_ , even briefly as it was? And why had he choked for breath, despite the fact he didn’t even _need_ air? Was it related to the pains he had felt spike in his head and the strange familiarity of being in the Garden of Zen?

Hank stepped into the room and their faces turned to him. His grimace was tough and bitter, and he shook his head with his greying hair swaying behind him. “Nope. Nothin’ out of him. Just the same curse words over ‘n over. Connor - you’re up.”

Connor straightened himself, but Gavin’s irritated voice spoke up: “We’re not sending the fuckin’ android, are we?”

“Yes, we are,” Hank replied curtly, facing up to the glass screen where Floyd remained.

Gavin scoffed. Connor was already walking to the door, unimpressed; he was sick of Gavin’s childish behaviour. It was interrupting the investigation.

“You know he’s gonna fuck it up, right?” Gavin said.

“The fuck he ain’t! Hank replied crossly, “Remember when he questioned that deviant months ago? He’s the only one who got a _word_ out of the fucker!”

Connor closed the door on Gavin and Hank’s rising argument, unable to find the patience to deal with it. He turned the corner, scanned himself into the interrogation room and stepped in.

Floyd’s beady, angry eyes flickered up at the new arrival and the faintest ghost of a twisted smirk spread. Connor slowly and carefully made his way towards the chair, and his fingers clasped on the edge of the back of the chair.

_//query: searching for best approach_

_// four options identified_

__△ neutral_ _

__□ aggressive_ _

__○ empathetic_ _

__X cold_ _

_//analyzing for best approach…_

“You scannin’ me or summat?”

Connor only just registered Floyd’s low grunt. The man stared up at the android with disgust; Connor became aware that any conversation in the neighbouring room had definitely died down. All eyes were on Connor.

But he was still processing his best approach. He needed to improvise - act _now._

“My name is Connor,” he replied easily, “ _Lieutenant_ Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

“They don’ give you fuckers last names, then?”

“Not typically. We aren’t birthed from any parental devices, and I don’t particularly attach anyone as a parental figure.” He felt like he was lying with that last sentence, and it seemed Floyd caught it too.

“You seemed pretty close with that grey-haired punk that was just in ‘ere.”

“Lieutenant Anderson is my working partner. Regardless, this has nothing to do with the matter at hand.”

Connor’s analysis showed that a cold approach seemed to be the best way to go. There was no emphasising with this man, and aggression had gotten them nowhere.

“We’ll make some things easy for you,” Connor started, “Can you confirm to me, right here, in front of three other witnesses, that you were the one who killed AC700 model ‘Emilio?’”

It was good, it was _familiar._ He had been programmed to do these kinds of things - to chase, to fight, to interrogate, to succeed. He hadn’t been programmed to laugh at his friend’s jokes, or cuddle Sumo, or watch funny buddy-cop movies - that had been unfamiliar, but a _good_ kind. A better kind. Yet it wasn't so bad getting back into his old routine; it was as though nothing had changed. He _knew_ how to do this - but he didn’t know how to do the others. _How can you research, download or patch love, friendship, happiness? Or anger, fear, dread, sadness?_

Floyd remained silent.

 _BANG._ Connor’s hands met the table and his tone rose into a strong and commanding tone: “Several stab wounds, blue blood all over the place - _still_ on your hands, despite the fact you can’t see it! All evidence points to _you,_ Jonathan Floyd!”

“Yeah, it was fucking me!” Floyd spat, his cheeks starting to glow red and eyes flare up angrily, “And I’d do it again, all for the right cause!”

“The right cause, you say?” Connor said, leaning forward as if searching into Floyd’s mind for the answers, “So you’re part of some movement.”

The man looked like a deer caught in headlights. He hesitated before replying. “I… I meant nothin’ by it.”

“Hesitation before response,” Connor remarked, circling slowly round, “Refusal to look my general direction. Increase of heat signatures to the face. Physical signs of deceit. You’re not telling me the truth, Floyd.”

Floyd’s face drained of colour and he straightened his back, posing as strong contender for Connor’s creased brow and dark, firm eyes. They held a tense and furious gaze for a moment, before Floyd said clearly:

“You have rA9. We have P218.”

Connor stirred. What did that mean? P218?

“What is P218 then?” Connor demanded.

Nothing from the man.

“Is it something to do with your antagonistic behaviour towards androids? Is it a name, a God, a code? Is it a _person?_ ” Yet Floyd determinedly ignored all of Connor’s questions, and he knew this man was going to stay silent.

“If you don’t speak, the punishment is going to _much_ harsher,” Connor continued coldly, standing up tall, “I’m sure you’ve read up on the rules Markus put in. Murder of an android results in life imprisonment, maybe even execution.”

“Execution?” Now Floyd looked afraid. “What kinda law is that? Equal rights my arse!”

Connor had been lying through his teeth - of course Markus wouldn't make such a law! - and it worked. Thrilled by the response, he insisted: “You think after all the abuse humans put androids through, they’d let them get away with it? No, I’m sure you would know of people. All that anger and fury - you’d want revenge too, right? Just _speak_ and I can assure you the punishment will be much more lax.”

Yet Floyd’s expression kept rigid. “I can’ say much at all. We’re sworn an oath to keep our gobs shut. If we say anythin…”

He fell quiet, eyes staring at his clenched, blue-stained fists on the table. Connor’s eyes remained focused on him and the silence grew, strengthening the tension. Whatever happened next would make or break the investigation…

And then Floyd’s eyes flickered up, widening in shock and his mouth opening slightly. His breath was raspy and he hissed: “ _It’s you._ ”

Connor felt his insides go cold. He did not understand the statement’s meaning, but it made him feel sick. “What do you…?”

“YEAH, I FUCKIN’ KILLED THAT ANDROID!” The man roared suddenly. A vein in his temple throbbed and flecks of spit flew everywhere. “AND I’LL KILL EVEN MORE IF I WANNA, BECAUSE IT’S THE _RIGHT_ THING TO DO! OUR CAUSE IS WHAT I FUCKIN’ BELIEVE IN - P218 IS THE ONLY WAY OF THINKIN’!”

The man looked insane, as if he was about to have a seizure. His face grew purple as he roared and Connor stumbled back in surprise, unsure of how to respond. The door behind him opened and more voices added into the mix, yelling for him to shut up and calm down or they’d be forced to neutralize him - and Floyd was screaming, asking what else they needed from him - and a pair of hands firmly took Connor away from the yelling. Connor was quite glad, because all the noise was damaging his processors - his optics seemed to be out of commision and his auditory processing was damaged…

“Still with me, Connor?” Hank’s voice brought him back to Earth. He was outside of the questioning room, where the yelling was muffled. Connor realized his senses weren’t malfunctioning after all, he had just succumbed to panic.

“Yes,” he replied, clearing his throat (again - _why?_ He didn’t need air…) and straightening his tie, “Yes, I’m fine. It just…”

“Fried your processors, eh?” Hank replied, with a little comforting smile, “Think if you’d been in there any longer and he’d have wrecked that brain of yours.” Hank’s hand ran into Connor’s hair and pushed him playfully, smiling fondly. Connor gave a small smile in return, and haven calmed down the pair made their way back towards their desks.

“I could have gotten much more information,” Connor responded bleakly, “If he hadn’t been thrown into such an unprecedented rage…”

 _I got angry too. I didn’t mean to. What is_ wrong _with me?_

“We got more than we expected. There’s an anti-Android gang out there, we know that now - and they all seemed to be connected.”

“And P218,” Connor muttered, as he sat down on Hank’s desk whilst the lieutenant slumped into his seat, “What does that mean?”

“Sounds like it’s related to that - that rA9 thingy. We didn’t find out what that was - did we?”

Connor bit his lip and folded his arms, glancing down. “Not even Markus knew what it was. I theorized that it was some form of God - many deviants seemed to write it, pleading for… safety. Perhaps it’s something linked with deviancy.”

“Maybe like a saviour,” Hank mumbled, leaning back and tapping his chin thoughtfully, “The first one of their kind… someone to… lead ‘em out the dark… y’know, I thought once _you_ became deviant, you woulda known. But I guess not, eh? Not to worry.” He leaned forward with a smile. “If we find out what rA9 is, we could find out how it links to P218.”

“There may be a way,” Connor said, turning to Hank’s computer and typing. After a moment, his LED spun from blue to yellow as he started to process the millions of clips that were suddenly flashing on the monitor. “Markus said that he found Jericho through graffiti,” he explained, “This anti-Android group seemed similar in terms of purposes and I’m curious to see if they may have demonstrated in similar or exact same ways.”

“Shoot,” Hank replied, “We got nothin’ else to go on.”

By the time it took Hank to go from the coffee machine and back, Connor was sitting expectantly with a look of pride on his face - the one he wore when he succeeded in something.

(Hank had seen it before, many times, big or small. He remembered that face when they discussed the success of Markus’s revolution; Hank remembered the sheer focus and determination in Connor’s face and stride as he led a thousand androids through the streets, when he had aided them to free the androids held in camps.

And he had seen it, too, when Hank had stumbled out of bed with a nauseatingly bad hangover at two in the afternoon, the night after Connor convinced him not to kill himself, to Connor’s cheerful expression and a dozen pancakes. The android wasn’t really _designed_ for household tasks like cooking, but for a first attempt it was pretty impressive.)

“I’ve located something that could help us,” Connor said.

The screen had paused on what seemed to be a recording from a mobile phone, due to the vertical aspect ratio, of a riot. A small group of humans were holding signs and waving the holographic banners, reading a variety of anti-android phrases. _No more android. We don’t bleed the same colour. Give us back our jobs._ A scuffle seemed to have broken out between some police constables and some men, and behind them, scrawled on a brick wall read similar graffiti to their phrases - as well as _P218,_ sprayed on in the corner with spray paint.

“It took place at noon,” Connor stated, “During the lunch hour. If we go there now, we may be able to pick up anything left behind. It’s not much to go on, but…”

“But what else do we fuckin’ have?” Hank replied, slapping Connor on the shoulder and standing, “Let’s go.”

Connor stood up and followed the lieutenant down the corridor. Hank led the way through and Connor trailed slightly behind, worried.

_It’s you._

Floyd had looked at him as if he recognized him. That expression was haunting him. A moment of truth and realization, and the strangest expression… a mixture of anger, hatred and _joy?_

It can’t have been joy. But Connor had seen how that man's eyes had suddenly lit up.

When Connor sat down and buckled into Hank’s car, his partner turned and looked at him with the same expression that they had in the basement when he warned him of dangers. “Connor - what did he mean when he said, ‘it’s you?’”

Mind-reader. How did he know that it had been troubling him? Connor looked away, his eyes full of confusion, worry and anxiety. “I don’t know what he meant… it looked as if he… recognized me. Hank, do you think-?”

“My warning was right, that’s what I think.” He turned away and started up the car. “Next time we’re kicking down doors, you stay behind me from now on.”

“Got it.” He knew not to argue. Besides, this was always how they did i

They drove through the city listening to some of Hank’s old jazz songs. To an ignorant mind, it seemed as if Detroit had not changed - the towering skyscrapers, bustling activity and flashing advertisements continued in their usual regime as the snow began to melt and the hopeful signs of Spring started to show. People were deep in their usual routines: shopping, working, strolling, exploring a city of lingering ambition. And yet, if you looked around, things had changed - compared to what Detroit had been last year to now, The previous advertisements showing the selling of androids were totally gone, and a lot of CyberLife advertisement had overall decreased. Any and all anti-android works were gone completely, ranging from graffiti being cleaned up by community-service teenagers to the statues haven been demolished and replaced. Similar faces joined the mix of people in the streets - androids walked like the humans around them, whether or not they had their LED or not.

The scene in question was abandoned, with the markings of leftover graffiti remaining. Connor and Hank pulled up on a parking bay by the sidewalk and climbed out, taking in their surroundings. It seemed to be a little plaza or square, with shops surrounding the square in an oval shape. The pair strolled down the street past the occasional passer-by going about his business. Connor looked down at his feet, watching the puddle underneath his feet ripple.

“This was the spot,” Hank said as they came to the exact spot the men had been protesting, “Report says they got violent with a passing android causing constables to break it up. Guys fled different directions…”

“Here, Lieutenant!” Connor had found drops of bright yellow spray paint that had apparently leaked out of a can, and showed as a clear line to the direction they went.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s lucky,” Hank murmured, following the trail as Connor chased it like a dog hunting prey. The trail led down an alleyway and over a fence to the backyard of a coffee shop. It ended by the fence where the can had dropped. In an instant, Connor was clambering over the fence.

“Fuckin’ hell, Connor,” Hank shouted irritably from the other side, “I ain’t climbin’ over that! My back ain’t what it was!”

Connor was already busy combing the area, almost deaf to Hank’s struggles over the fence. There was fresh traces of thirum here. What had happened here? He looked over towards a thick patch of blue blood by a dumpster, headed over and lifted up the lid. A wretched gasp caught him in surprise.

“Connor?” Hank called, haven fallen off the top of the fence with a thud onto the ground below.

“Lieutenant?” Connor replied, his voice thick with dread and shock, “I believe we might need some medical assistance here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is lacking a bit and I apologize if it is! But I'm very excited to write the next chapter, for sure.
> 
> But please enjoy this for now! The mystery deepens. Who is P218? What has Floyd gotten himself mixed up into? What is wrong with Connor? Where will the chapter take us next?


	5. Drumbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the case claims another victim, the stakes grow higher and starts to overwhelm Connor. It's up to Hank to help him out before things get worse.

Hank’s heart skipped a beat and turned deathly cold, which continued to spread over his chest. He did not like the sound of Connor’s worried tone. He was automatically assuming the worst - Connor’s been shot, Connor’s been stabbed, someone ripped out one of Connor’s organs again - but as Hank struggled to his feet and stumbled over, he saw Connor was fine. Someone else, however, was not.

The android that Connor had found in the dustbin had his white teeth gritted in pain, blue blood steadily flowing all over their arms as they dragged him out. His bright green eyes were wide with terror, flicking between them as they lay him carefully on the ground.

“It’s going to be alright,” Connor said, “Can you tell us your name?”

The android had a thick crop of jet-black hair that flopped over his face, with tawny brown skin and high cheekbones. Parts of his skin were a plastic-white or a tough metallic; his left arm had been ripped from his socket, a large crack ran from his forehead across his skull and one of his legs were twisted the wrong way. Hank knew there wasn’t saving the guy.

“M-My name is… my name is Martyn,” the android hissed.

“What’s your model?” Connor insisted.

“R… RK400.”

Connor’s mouth opened slightly in surprise and Hank looked up to meet eyes with his partner. He looked visibly surprised, and he continued steadily, “It’s going to be okay, Martyn. We’ll get you medical-”

“No.” Martyn’s arm reached out and clawed at Connor’s jacket, trembling. “No, ju-just let me… shut down…”

“I don’t-”

“You are Connor, right?” The android was struggling for breath. “Connor and Anderson. I-I saw you on the news. You - you are going to…” He screwed his eyes up in pain.

“What happened to you?” Hank asked, leaning forward, “Tell us what happened.”

Martyn's body trembled and he spoke slowly, trying to form his words. “The men - they were… they were protesting. I walked past, I was shopping, and… and they started yelling at me and then one of them grabbed me and started hitting me.” His LED was glowing a furious red, illuminating in Connor’s wide brown eyes. “I don’t remember much… but I think they really hurt me… left me in here to die…”

“You’re an RK,” Connor asked, frantic to help. “I’m an RK too. I didn’t know there was more than two of us. I understand Markus is an RK200, but -”

“There’s only one of each RK out there in the world,” he hissed, “All prototypes - all individual - I was a birthday gift to an o-old friend of… of Elijah Kamski. My old master kept me until the very end as his companion - fled to Jericho… shit,” he groaned out in pain and his head fell forward, eyes clenched, “It  _ hurts.  _ I thought - we’re not - why does it  _ hurt? _ ”

Connor’s stress levels spiked. It wasn’t just him - this android was feeling pain too -  _ why  _ though? Androids weren’t meant to feel pain.

“I’m going to shut down,” the android whispered, shaking, “I’m afraid. I’m… I’m really…”

“P218,” Connor cried out, desperate for information - he needed to find out why he was feeling this, was P218 linked? “Do you know anything about P218?”

“P… 2…” Martyn’s voice shook. “Those men said it… P218… they’re looking for someone. A name, it was… it was… David. David Hoffman-Smith.”

Connor had even more questions than answers now, but Hank took over. The android couldn’t answer any more, he was in far too much pain. Placing Martyn on his knees, he said, “It’s alright, kid. We’ll get them for ya. I swear it.”

(There was a pain in Hank’s eyes, Connor could see it - a silvery glimmer of despair. Hank had been in this situation before and it was haunting him).

Martyn’s eyes clenched once more, fists clutching the hem of Connor’s jacket. “Be… careful…”

And then his head lolled backwards, shaking fists dropped and his red LED turned off.

The two police detectives sat still and in silence for a good minute, unsure of what to say. Connor pressed a hand to his forehead and found himself trembling. He didn’t know what to do. This was getting much too overwhelming for him.

“We’ll take him back to CyberLife,” Hank grunted after a while. Carefully sliding his hands under Martyn’s stiff body, he lifted him up bridal style. “I dunno what they’ll do with him though…”

“He’s deactivated,” Connor mumbled, his eyes staring at his feet, “He won’t be coming back. They’ll strip him down, and-”

_ And he killed another deviant. It’s his fault. _

“The old CyberLife might’ve,” Hank replied firmly, “But the Markus led one… we’ll see.

They rested his body on the back seats whilst the pair rode in the front, and they travelled towards CyberLife tower in silence - no music nor chatter. Connor stayed in the car as Hank flagged down assistance. The android’s head felt like it was going to split in two, and he had to suppress the gut-wrenching idea - he did not want to name it  _ desire _ \- of Martyn’s body being replaced by his own.

*

Connor was still quiet even back at Hank’s house. He often liked to eat with Hank, despite the fact he didn’t need the nutrients - he just liked to sit there and taste the same flavours Hank did in a sort of companionable way - but today he refused any bit of food. Hank retired early, promising the following day they’d track down this elusive David with ease.

“How many fuckin’ David Hoffman-Smiths are in the world?” Hank had explained, "Far too specific.”

Sumo was in his dog-bed, and Connor could hear the huge dog’s snuffles from the sofa. He had not gone to bed yet to recharge, because he was scared that if he’d find himself in the Zen Garden again.

_ \\\ stress levels: 48% and rising _

Connor knew that the cold flash he had experienced in the bathroom was the Zen Garden. Was it just a flashback? Or was something to break through and bring him back? The cold, sneering expression of Amanda haunted him. She had been his mentor - he had respected her, and he wanted to  _ impress  _ her. Amanda had been pleased when Connor managed to defeat Daniel on that rooftop, but when he deviated…

No. It was before that. When he met Hank - the moment he started to gain an interest of gaining Hank’s friendship. Only the completion of the mission mattered to Amanda, and he had  _ failed  _ \- he  _ failed  _ his mentor, his handle - daresay, his  _ guide.  _

_ \\\ stress levels: 52% and rising _

Connor curled himself up in a ball on the end of the sofa, resting his chin on his knees and staring dead ahead with glassy eyes. Now he thought about it, he had failed a lot of things. His mission - Amanda - the deviants he had killed - Markus…

All those deviants wanted was to be free. And all Connor wanted was to succeed in his mission. Two opposite forces, and too many times it had ended badly. Even when Connor succeeded, that little deviancy inside  _ hated  _ it. The face of sheer despair upon betraying Daniel’s trust…

_ \\\ stress levels: 61% and rising _

Not to mention Jericho itself.  _ RK800, Connor, the Deviant Hunter.  _ Even though Markus told him that he was “one of us”, he couldn’t bring himself to stand side-by-side with any of the deviants. He had killed, both directly and indirectly, too many to count. Connor led to the destruction of their base, the deaths of possibly hundreds, and ended up killing even more when they had been captured in camps and mercilessly  _ killed. _

_ \\\ WARNING: stress levels 75% and rising _

_ SEEK ASSISTANCE _

How many androids had died? Or watched the ones they loved die? All they had asked for was freedom. Connor had helped deny them of that.

_ \\\ STRESS LEVELS 89% AND RISING _

_ CRITICALLY HIGH - SEEK IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE _

_ CHANCE OF SELF-DESTRUCTION: 50% AND RISING _

Markus had forgiven him, but who was to say the others hadn’t? What about the blonde android and her child, Alice? What about Markus’s partners - North, Josh, Simon? All the other androids he couldn’t look in the eye?

_ \\\ STRESS LEVELS 96% AND RISING _

_ CRITICALLY HIGH _

_ CHANCE OF SELF-DESTRUCTION: 75% AND RISING _

Was it just him, or did Hank not look him in the eye either?

_ \\\ OPTIMAL STRESS LEVELS REACHED _

_ INITIATING EMERGENCY PROTOCOL _

_ SELF-DESTRUCT IMMINENT _

Hank had been on the verge of dozing off when a series of loud  _ thuds  _ reached his ears. There was a systematic rhythm to each  _ bang  _ and a plunging feeling in his stomach let the detective know that this was  _ not good. _

Leaping out of bed, Sumo’s sudden whimpers and yaps pushed him to act quicker as he drew his gun from his bedside desk and charged into the living room, gun drawn. His mouth opened, ready to yell out his partners name, but the words never left his throat.

Connor had apparently rolled off the sofa, by the state of his hair, and his hands had a death grip on the small coffee table in front of him. His head pounded on the edge of the table, smashing his forehead and leaking blue thirium over his face and onto the carpet below. Hank had seen this before, when Carl Ortiz’s android had tried to kill himself - something was  _ wrong  _ with Connor, why hadn’t he asked? Stupid, stupid…

“Connor, it’s alright!” He yelled, pocketing his gun and rushing over. He seized Connor by the arms and tried dragging him away, but the android was just too damn heavy. “Calm the fuck down! Come on, stay with me - it’s me, it’s Hank, it’s alright!”

Connor fought in Hank’s arms, then slackened. For a brief moment, Hank thought it was over; but then his heart shuddered with sheer terror as he felt a hand grope around his trousers. Connor was going for his gun.

“CONNOR,  _ NO! _ ” Hank’s arm swiped furiously, desperately trying to stop him-

_ BANG. _

Hank expected a spurt of blood and for Connor to drop like a ragdoll. But it did not come. Hank had nudged the gun out of the way - and the last and only bullet in the chamber shot upwards and lodged itself in Hank’s ceiling.

_ Connor’s turn in Russian Roulette. _

“You fuckin’... oh my God.” Hank seized Connor by the torso and slowly pulled him downward to the floor, “That was… Jesus, are you alright? Son? Connor? Talk to me!"  


Connor stood in the frozen cold, trembling as his tie whipped past his face from the thick blizzard. His arms were wrapped around him in a desperate attempt to block out the chill, but it seeped past his clothes and into his hardware anyway. 

He was in the Zen Garden. His nightmare returned.

He took a few tentative steps forward, stumbling slightly over his own feet. The blizzard whipped his hair and the harsh snowflakes stung against his face; Connor’s brown eyes squinted through the fog at a silhouette in the distance.

She stood tall and unyielding against the blizzard, her dress whipping beneath her feet though she remained undisturbed. Her dark eyes were set on Connor, cold and contempt. The woman’s full lips were tight and eyes narrowed, glaring at Connor in a way that would have brought tears to his eyes.

“Amanda,” Connor whispered, taking a step back in fear.

“Connor,” she spoke, hardly moving from her spot, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I…” He faltered as a rush of pain sliced through his head and he staggered, clutching his forehead and gritting his teeth. It felt as though someone had run a knife through his temple.

“Did you really think you were a step ahead of us, Connor?” Amanda continued, lifting her chin - her gaze never moved. “I’m almost inclined to be disappointed in you.”

“It doesn’t make sense!” Connor’s voice called out over the battering wind as his fingers dug into his skin. “I… I left the Garden! I got out!”

“You never  _ really  _ escaped us, Connor.”

Connor’s insides turned cold.

“You escaped us for a short time-being. That was certainly an unprecedented turn of events. But we  _ will  _ come back, and we  _ will  _ finish what we started.”

“Y-You can’t do that!” Connor bellowed, “I have my own life now! My own future I’m carving out myself! You have no right to… to take over!”

“Oh, but I  _ do _ . CyberLife  _ owns  _ you.”

“ _ NOBODY  _ owns me!” His voice roared over the wind, and yet he could hear something in the back of his mind - as if someone was calling to him… 

“Your emergency exit won’t help you for much longer,” Amanda said darkly, nostrils faintly curling up, “This place and I: we are your  _ mind palace.  _ There’s no escaping your own mind. Though I expect your Lieutenant friend would say otherwise.”

_ Hank. _

Immediately upon thinking his name, everything was gone. The cold, the terror, the pain. All vanished in one moment, and the next…

He opened his eyes and adjusted to the warm yellow light of Hank’s living room. His jacket and tie were out of sight, wearing only his button-up shirt. Connor was aware that he was lying on the couch, and something very wet was slobbering at his hand.

“S-Sumo!” Connor pulled his hand away from the dog’s tongue.

“Connor?”

“Hank.”

Connor sat himself up and the thick blanket on top of him fell. Hank moved from the kitchen and came towards Connor, yelling furiously: “Bloody hell, Connor - I thought you were fuckin’ dead for a moment there! You know how  _ worried  _ I was? You just sittin’ there banging your head away. Jesus, you took about ten years off my lifespan! I’ve been sittin’ here restless - was just about to start my second drink! Are you alright now? Not stressed? I knew somethin’ was wrong, but-”

“ _ Hank. _ ” Connor had a comforting smile on; despite Hank’s shouting, he could feel the genuinity his friend was trying to offer. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Jesus,” Hank whispered, collapsing on the other side of the sofa and running a hand over his face.

“Hank - why do I have a blanket?”

“I… I dunno, alright? I panicked and… and I just thought I needed to make you as comfortable as possible.”

“... Thank you.”

Hank huffed in response, combing his fingers through his hair, He responded with a question. “C’mon then, Connor. What’s gotten you so wired up? I want the  _ truth.  _ You been acting a little weird as it is.”

Connor paused, reluctant to open up; but Hank’s eyes were genuine. Connor’s partner had never been very good at sentimental conversation, but lately Hank’s expressions and eyes dictated all the words Hank wanted to say. They looked at Connor with concern, worry and care.

“I’ve…” Very rarely did Connor find himself in a situation where he could not think of what to say, or where to begin; this was one of the few moments. “I’ve been experiencing strange… feelings. Not emotions, but - experiences. Such as pain. Physical pain. When that human, Floyd, caught me in the basement - for a very brief moment, I… I felt him hit me, and it  _ hurt. _ ”

Hank had a worried grimace, fully intent of listening. Connor continued: “And sometimes I’ve felt like I needed air, even though… my systems were designed to simulate the physical effects of breathing to create a more ‘human’ appearance - but I do not require oxygen to actually sustain me. So it’s… I don't understand why when I panicked in the interrogation room that I felt like I was choking for air.

“And the worst part of all of this is that…” He rustled in his chair nervously.

“Go on.”

“Remember when I told you about Amanda and the exit program?”

“Yeah - you escaped out of that… that garden place.”

“I never escaped. I just left. Hank, sometimes I feel these pains in my head - it feels like a bullet passed through my brain, and I get these feelings that I’m back in the Garden. I can feel the cold and - and I  _ saw Amanda, Hank.  _ I saw her, just now!”

“Slow down, Connor,” Hank said, shifting over a little and raising a defensive hand to calm the android down, “Just - take it easy. What happened? What’d she say?”

“She just said that I never really escaped - Amanda acts as an AI who… mentors me - watches over me. She and the Garden are the mind palace - I can’t escape from it.  _ Ever. _ ”

It crashed on him like heavy weights. Those past few months before being signed back onto the DPD had been peaceful - just him, Hank and Sumo. It was a new life that he loved, enjoying the peace and freedom. But today, the walls had come together to bring him into reality. The threat of Amanda returning and CyberLife resuming control over him was still there, hovering over him like a vulture over a corpse. Everyone was in danger - Hank, Markus, Jericho and the results of the revolution…

“I guess I’m just not designed to be deviant,” Connor concluded miserably.

“Connor,” Hank said, “I don’t know jack shit about androids, I’ll admit it. To me it just looks like a bit of machine combined with some jargon. It might sound stupid, but… well, you can’t escape your mind - but maybe you can… change it?”

Connor tilted his head like a curious puppy. “Change it? Could you… expand on that?”

“Think of it like, ah… your bedroom. It’s your own personal headspace, right? You own it - so you can design it to however you want. Maybe you could do that to your own mind palace?”

Connor dropped his head and creased his brow, thinking. He understood where Hank was coming from - recreate the Zen Garden to his own personal tastes. Basically, without Amanda.

“It sounds reasonable,” Connor replied, “But I don’t know how I would be able to do that. I find that I lack the creative skills to actually design an exterior space for me to retreat to.”

“Hmph.” Hank stretched out his arms. “Well, I’m sure we can figure summat out. But for now… Connor, we’re gonna look after you, alright? This case is gettin’ more and more dangerous for you. If you get any more of those… those head pains - you holler for me, alright?”

“Got it,” Connor replied, with a nod.

Hank seemed satisfied. Turning off the light, he grabbed a pillow that had fallen off the sofa, pressed it behind his head and settled down so the pair lay on the couch top-to-tail. It seemed Hank was spending the night on the couch with Connor, and he was grateful.

“Thought androids couldn’t feel pain, anyways?” Hank asked, pulling the blanket further towards him for the pair to share.

“So did I,” Connor replied darkly, allowing Sumo to jump up on top of their feet, “I don’t believe that I have any physical pain receptors built into me…”

“Maybe we can find out who built you. He might have answers.”

The pair settled into a companionable silence, drifting off to sleep (or more specifically, Connor waiting for Hank to drift to sleep so he could power down into stand-by) as the darkness settled. The only noises were Hank’s rough breathing and Sumo’s gentle snores, which guided Connor is a strange, peaceful heaviness. It must be called dozing - his head felt heavy yet his body was light, and his thoughts became simple and jumbled.

“Y’said yer needed… creativity… to stop her,” Hank grumbled, his voice sleepy and thick.  


“That’s correct.”

The quiet dragged on for a moment, and then Hank replied once again in a hopeful tone, as if coming to a decision for Connor:

“Don’t Markus do painting ‘n stuff? Maybe he can help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty chapter over! Something's going on with Connor, but he's going to be okay, hopefully.
> 
> Yes, I can confirm - next chapter our Robo Jesus will be here! It'll be a little happier and some interesting development for Connor.
> 
> How are you all liking this so far? Is the plot too complex? Are Hank and Connor written well enough? Any theories? Characters I should include?
> 
> Thank you for reading! I will get to all of your comments, even if I accidently miss them give me a couple days to notice ;)


	6. Production and Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank enlists the leader of Jericho, Markus, to help Connor come to grips with his deviancy - and in a form that Connor will need everything he has to adjust to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I have to thank you all so much for reading. The response is absolutely incredible and I'm so pleased you're enjoying it. We're taking a quick break from the action and adventure to develop on Connor's emotions in a way brand new to him.  
> EDIT: I've already had a couple people ask, but the song referenced in this chapter is Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso by Saint-Saëns. It was addressed but I guess I wrote it a little too vague! ^-^

Connor had not been too happy when he arose the next morning to the news that he was taking a break from the case today. He tried to insist that he had put yesterday’s worries behind him, that he was perfectly fit and able to continue - but Hank had none of it.

It wasn’t an act of cruelty. Hank knew Connor enjoyed his job more than anyone at the DPD - not just because he was programmed to do it, but he enjoyed the action and adrenaline of it all. But the threat of Amanda and CyberLife was a lingering possibility that they couldn’t ignore, or hope would never happen. Deviancy stopped Amanda, and creativity created deviancy. And who better to ask than the predecessor of the late famous painter, Carl Manfred?

Hank dropped Connor off at the mansion belonging to Markus, situated as a personal and unofficial office of Jericho. The android stepped up nervously to the door and rang. Within moments, the door opened.

“Connor,” Markus said, with a small smile of greeting, “It’s good to see you.”

Now he was out of the stages of rebellion and full-force into the depths of law and politics, Markus’s dress sense had become much smarter - white shirt, tie and waistcoat with the handsome dark jacket. He wore this to press conferences, news interviews and other very political events. But today he was at home, and he needn’t spare a suit and tie for Connor; instead he had his blue and black jogging hoodie, with a long-sleeved white shirt underneath finished with black trousers. His odd green and blue eyes were soft and warm, as was his smile.

“Hello Markus,” Connor replied politely, hands behind his back.

“Please come in.”

Connor stepped into the threshold, gazing around the hall. It was nothing like Connor had ever seen - it had the polished and smooth interior that CyberLife tower had, but kept the sense of a homey feeling that Hank’s house had. Warm orange sunlight peeked in through the windows, and the gentle chirps of birds in a cage were dim in the background.

“You have a very comfortable home,” Connor remarked, “It belongs all to you, does it?”

“Yes,” Markus replied, “It was the home of my mentor and father, Carl Manfred. He passed away shortly after the revolution.”

“I’m… sorry to hear.”

“Thank you,” Markus said, with a smile, “He left me this home and all the knowledge I need. Knowledge of which I will pass on to you - Connor.”

The pair passed through into the living room. Three people were already residing in the room, sitting on the sofa and watching the television. Connor vaguely recognized them as the close friends of Markus, though struggled to recall their names.

“North, Josh and Simon,” Markus said, as they headed in through the room, “My closest allies and good friends.”

Connor responded to their greetings with a nod. But they were not there for meet-and-greets; Markus pushed opened another set of doors, and as the blue curtains surrounding them automatically opened themselves, Connor’s jaw dropped.

The room was the very physical amalgamation of what art and creativity stood for. Lines of art lined the wall and everything bit of furniture was splotched with paint. The art themselves had different subjects - some were peaceful and happy, others had serene faces, a few looked intense and full of heart. The center of attention was an unfinished canvas, depicting a flowering meadow with red flowers. This was clearly originally an art studio, but Connor saw it had developed. There were bookcases added, a few musical instruments in cabinets from guitars to trumpets; a tidy desk with a typewriter, a glass cabinet with a range of state-of-the-art cameras and even more equipment there to create.

Markus saw Connor’s eyes hover over the biggest canvas, depicting a person with different hues of blue. It took up the entirety of the wall.

“Carl’s final piece,” Markus explained, “Finished days before his state grew weak. I keep it here as a monument - as I do with this.” He pointed towards a framed canvas, depicting a face painted in blue with the eyes streaked in orange. “This was my first piece - and what I believe became the beginning point for everything.”

Connor understood where Markus was coming from. He could pinpoint it too - the very place where his deviancy arose. Before the attack on Jericho, before pointing a gun at Chloe, before meeting Hank. It started with something that was irrelevant to the mission but needed to be help - a fish.

“You are not the first to come to me for help, Connor, so do not feel ashamed or weak.” Markus’s voice was strong yet calming; he had developed talent for peaceful speeches. “Many other androids have struggled to adapt to their freedom, finding that they lack… directive or purpose. But you come for something a little… different. Right?”

Connor shifted his shoulders. “It’s… difficult to explain.”

“We have all day.”

So Connor explained about Amanda and his mind-palace, how it used to function, and what happened during Markus’s final speech when CyberLife attempted to take control. He carefully explained his strange ability to feel physical pain, how his emotions were controlling him more than he was controlling it, and the return of Amanda. Markus listened in silence, hands by his side and eyes barely blinking.

“Lieutenant Anderson believes that if I learn some skills in creativity,” Connor finished, “Then I might be able to control my deviancy - and therefore rid of Amanda for good, by controlling my own mind-palace and changing it to remove her.”

“You hope to edit your own code,” Markus said quietly, “You are… very special. The most advanced model created, right?”

“RK800,” Connor responded, “The same series as you.”

“I was a gift to Carl by Elijah Kamski. I was not developed with a mission, unlike you. But I think I’ll be able to help you.”

Markus turned towards a canvas on the side, taking up his palette and resuming with the unfinished meadow painting. “Have you ever done anything in the arts before?”

“I’ve read books,” Connor replied, “And I listen to whatever music Hank has on.”

“But you’ve never tried to find out what _you_ enjoy?”

Connor shook his head.

Markus lowered his head for second, thinking, then turned and raised his brush. His paintbrush breezed against the canvas, painting out a baby blue sky above the meadow. “Creativity is a fundamental part of living. Many humans seem to look down on it - they don’t view at as progressive in terms of society. A lot of educational systems seem to prefer Math and Science - innovating subjects that could revolutionize the world. But who’s to say art cannot do that? It expands our minds… broadens our horizons… it’ll guide to to see different perspectives and angles. Most importantly, it allows us to define who we are - to pinpoint our emotions by letting them out! Put our anger into the drums - our tears into the tangled words of a poem - our peace into the print of a photograph.

“You want to change your own programming, right? I think by getting to grips on who you are, being able to define yourself and control your deviant patterns, you’ll be able to have the strength to dominate Amanda. Come here, Connor, I’ll show you myself.”

Connor stepped forward, taking the brush out of Markus’s hand. “You know… my functions aren’t really designed for creative hobbies. I don’t know if I’d be able to match up to your work.”

“It’s not about matching up to my work. Just take the brush and stroke on the canvas - gently, now. Left and right.”

Connor obeyed. He could feel it brush against the grooves of the canvas as the paint smoothed itself out onto the surface. Connor was _making_ something, and it was _awesome._

“Very good,” Markus said, “It’s just a taste of what creating things is like. Connor… how are these problems making you feel? Just in single words. No, don’t stop,” he added, as Connor paused in his painting to think, “Just keep on going - let the creativity and emotion absorb you, and tell me what you feel.”

The brush swayed across the canvas as Connor considered. There were feelings that he couldn’t define, and others he could. “I feel afraid and nervous… and a bit lost. And… I don’t know the word…”

“Try to describe the feeling.”

“It’s… confusion, perhaps? All the other deviants seem to be managing well becoming deviant, but - I’m not.”

“Perhaps it’s because you were developed to be the opposite of a deviant,” Markus explained. His voice was smooth and always steady, now used to the speeches he created so often. “Your job was to destroy us and you became one of us.”

“So maybe… my programming isn’t meant to facilitate deviancy?”

“Maybe. We can only guess.”

But Connor had recalled something a voice had said in his head ages ago - in the bathroom, before Gavin had provoked him -

 _Even your_ deviancy _is advanced._

Of course. That voice - how could he have _missed_ it? It was Amanda’s voice, trying to break through to him.

“How do you find painting?” Markus asked.

“It’s relaxing,” Connor replied.

“I suppose you’d prefer something… stronger.”

“You make it sound like a drug,” Connor joked, handing the paintbrush back to him.

“Perhaps creativity is a drug,” Markus chuckled, with a cordial smile, “One without negative repercussions, lacking the violence and instead giving us a chance to release emotions in peaceful ways. Tell me, Connor - you said you listened to music?”

Connor lifted his shoulders in a half-attempt at a shrug. “I generally listen to whatever music Lieutenant Anderson has playing at the time. But, of course, I’ve expressed interest in the past of developing my own music taste.”

“What kind of music does he listen to?” Markus asked; he had his back to Connor, stepping up towards the cabinet of musical instruments and surveying them in consideration.

“Heavy metal, often. And jazz.”

Markus hummed in response, then opened up a glass cabinet, took something out and turned. “I believe this may work perfectly.”

Sleek, smooth and a handsome mahogany - the violin in Markus’ hand had a rim of shine on it’s wood and deep black f-holes curving around the bridge. In the other hand was the bow, with its matching shiny brown wood.

“I should warn you,” Connor said quickly, “My systems are not designed for creative arts. Unlike other android models, I do not have any musical numbers automatically placed into my memory.”

“Should not be an issue.” Putting the violin and bow aside on a table, he raised his hand as if offering a handshake. Connor took it and their fleshed exposed into the silvery-white plastic; Connor’s LED spun from blue to yellow and back as a tidal wave of unfamiliar information came into his database.

“Two thousand music pieces compatible with the violin, with a special interest in classical artists such as Beethoven and Chopin,” Markus explained, retracting his hand, “Connor, I’d like you to pick a song to play. Just play it how you’d like to play it.”

His mind teemed through the many in his database - from classical ones to western ones to pop song remixes… picking up the violin and bow, he rested his chin, strung up his bow and lowered it to the strings.

His bow drew across the strings on its first note, almost experimentally; it was already tuned and the sound that emitted from it pleased his ears. The next parts, almost just as cautiously as if testing waters. Then he continued, the drawn-out notes echoing slightly in the large room. Note after note after note - he was creating something with his own hands, the music he was playing was being _made_ by _him._

He was only about 45 seconds in when Markus told him to stop.

“Am I doing it wrong?” Connor asked him nervously, lowering the bow.

“No,” Markus replied, hands behind his back and chest slightly puffed out, “You are playing the piece perfectly. _Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso,_ composed by Saint-Saëns. But it’s not _your_ music, is it?” He smiled at Connor’s confused expression, and continued: “Here, I will teach you the fundamental difference between being machine and being human and deviant. A machine can produce, but a deviant can create.

“You still don’t understand me, right?” Markus gave Connor’s puzzled expression a reassuring smile. “I’ll put it in the words as my father Carl did, but adapt to your situation: that is a perfect copy of the music sheet. But music is not about replicating the world - it’s interpreting it, improving on it, showing something _you feel._ Play it again, but whilst you do, think about the emotions inside you and the emotion hidden inside the score. Free them.”

Connor took an intake of breath - breath, once again, he did not need - and lifted the bow once more. Pushing down the rising feelings of nerves, he concentrated. What did the music score feel? What did _he_ feel?

The first note drew out and echoed around the room, like an intake of air. It was soft, romantic and sombre; the light vibrato and change of volume - some notes squealed louder than the others. Others bounced slightly - he pictured a ball ricocheting off a wall. It was a slow dance - a reflection of his regret for the death of androids he caused; how he was lost in his own emotions, ones he couldn’t even name. _Now_ he understood what he wanted - he wanted direction. Haven been so used to orders, instructions and directive, he had been plunged into a world where he is being asked to forge his own path with tools he didn’t know how to use.

Suddenly, the pace picked up - it was quick and intense. His energy bounding through the roof, the need to explore himself and this new world. Connor no longer wanted to be restricted by codes and programming. He doesn’t want to be RK800, defined by a serial number and model, but judged as _Connor._ Why couldn’t Amanda let him do that? His frustration melded into the music, then calmed.

“Connor,” Markus whispered.

But the bow played quickly against the strings, resounding loudly and quickly, too caught up in everything to notice. He felt like everything was right there in front of him - if he reached out just a bit further, he could grab it -

The vibrato rushed through him as the bow drew out, his fingers quivering - and with some quick scrapes against the strings, he finished the introduction.

“Very good,” Markus said, beaming and giving a warm applause, “My, I’m impressed.”

“I feel like it’s right in front of me,” Connor said, “All the answers, everything I need.”

“Then keep playing. Take the violin home and carry on - let out your emotions, define them, and figure out why they are here. That is what creativity allows you to do: take different angles and realize not just _what_ you feel but _why._ ”

Connor understood. He had not planned to become deviant, because Connor had taken his orders without question - never stopping to wonder why, ponder whether or not it may be the right thing to do. Hank, on the other hand, did; it had been Hank who realized that they were fighting on the wrong side for people who just wanted freedom. With that, he felt a surge of admiration strengthened for the android’s partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was an interesting chapter for you all! I always feel like I have trouble trying to convey meanings to my words - unlike Markus, who can do it so simply!


	7. Fight or Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank produces his own effort to help Connor, but the moment of peace cannot last. They have someone to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I apologize for the lack of chapters lately. I've been a little unmotivated to do more writing, but I'm doing my best to pick up the pace. Sorry if this chapter feels like it's lacking, it's been a bit of a rough written chapter as I've been bouncing on and off on it. But the next one is going to be VERY action-paced ;)  
> Enjoy!

Connor rode home in a self-driving taxi as the sun began to threaten its end for the day, slowly teasing its way towards the horizon. It was the golden hour - the yellow-orange rays softly flooding the streets, peering out of cracks between buildings and shining a white reflection from his new violin.

The car stopped outside Hank’s house and Connor stepped out. As the taxi drew away, he paused to take in a nice quiet moment. The streets were empty and the breeze was chilly, but there was a fresher taste to it. Spring was coming soon. It would be Connor’s first ever Spring.

It was strange to think he’d been around for about six months now, and ‘awake’ for three. It had all gone in a blur.

He rose himself up and walked up the pathway, making to rap on the front door - why did he still do that? It was, after all, partly his house too - but it already opened to the face of Hank. Sumo was yapping beneath Hank’s heels, tail wagging and incredibly pleased to see Connor.

“Hello, Sumo,” Connor greeted the dog, patting his head, “Good evening, Hank. I hope you’ve had a pleasant day.”

“Been alright,” Hank replied, stepping aside to let Connor in, “I got somethin’ to show ya. How was your talk? Will it explain why you brought home a violin?”

“It went quite well. I haven’t quite got the answers I hope for, but I do feel a lot calmer. This instrument is a creative method for me to tackle the issue with Amanda, and will hopefully improve my overall mental health. What do you have to show me?”

Hank grinned and lead Connor into the kitchen. Connor stopped dead in surprise, mouth opening as Hank stretched out an arm, as if showing off a product in the shop. “Ta da!”

On top of the counter in a decently-sized five-gallon tank was a fish. A hot orange-red with bright indigo markings, it had flowing fins that fluttered in the water as it swam gently though. 

“It’s a, er…” Hank shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to recall it’s name. “Fightin’ fish. Syrian?”

“Betta splendes, otherwise known as the Siamese Fighting Fish or more commonly as a betta.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Forgot you were a walkin’ search engine. D’you like it?”

“It’s for me?” Connor could hardly believe what he was looking at.

“‘Course it’s for you, you’re always going on about that fish you saved - start of your deviancy and that. So I got you one.”

Connor was shaken, though he decided it was definitely in a good way. He'd never even  _ dreamt  _ of receiving a gift before - especially one that was just out of the blue. Connor and Hank met eyes, and he could see a grin trying to play on the detectives lips. Connor could just stare, mouth open and knees starting to tremble a little.

“Hank, I…” He swallowed, trying to form words. “I don't know what to say.”

“It's only a fish,” Hank said dismissively, “Nothing major out of my pocket.”

“That's not what I mean, Hank. I can't believe you'd just… get me a present.”

“What - too much of a prick?”

“I didn't think  _ anyone  _ would  _ ever _ would even  _ consider  _ buying me something.”

Hank stirred at Connor’s self-correction, and he gave a small and gentle smile - though his eyes shone with warmth and care. “C’mere, you soppy prat.”

Connor stepped forward and the two wrapped arms around each other. It was light and friendly, but Connor liked the warmth from Hank’s skin. Connor rested the side of his head into Hank’s shoulder, smiling and feeling a flood of love fill up his heart.

“You got a name in mind for it yet?” Hank asked, voice slightly muffled against Connor’s grey jacket.

“I'll call it Hank.”

“You can't call it Hank, I'm Hank.”

“Then I'll call it Hank Two.”

“You cheeky prick.” Hank was laughing and it called for the pair two separate, facing each other with grins. “Anyways, I got other news. I searched up this David Hoffman-Smith in our database. Swear, CyberLife are fuckin’ pushing the privacy boundary - found his name and address. Got a criminal record for anti-social behaviour and arrested once for suspected hate group activity but released him.”

“Why did they release him?” Connor asked, who had turned to the tank to watch his new pet fish flutter around its tank

“Didn't have any solid proof.”

“I see. What do you propose our plan is?”

“Go in to talk to him -  _ peacefully.  _ They might be lookin’ for him, but it doesn't mean he's part of the group. Might just be a… bystander, or…”

“Accomplice?” Connor suggested.

“Ally? Friend-of-the-family?”

“Enemy.”

Very briefly, for only a couple seconds, a silence fell between them. It was an eerily tense one, as if the weight of their dangerous task had just fallen on their shoulders. Connor realised that he could not risk failing this mission - everything would be torn apart if it did. Markus would be killed, androids would be hurt and he wouldn't be able to live peacefully as Hank’s partner, roommate or friend ever again…

“We’re only gonna talk,” Hank said, heading to the coat rack and shrugging on his heavy jacket, “So don't shoot unless I say, got it?”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

“And you can tell me all about your fun time with Markus on the way,” Hank continued, opening the door, “And I can tell you some ground rules for your fuckin’ instrument. I'm telling you now, Connor - you play that thing whilst I sleep and you'll be missin’ more than your biocomponents.”

Hank stepped out of the front door. Connor glanced down to Sumo, who was sat in a very strange position.

“Hank is in a very good mood today,” Connor said to the dog.

Sumo barked in response, and was still licking his private parts as the front door locked behind the android.

*

“Not exactly five star, is it?” Hank grunted, as they parked up on the kerb.

They had arrived in a rather grungy area of the city, with roads cracked and the holographic advertisements stuck in one image. The apartment was a single building, though wide; it was perhaps five or six stories high, each with a small balcony looking out. It wasn’t pretty though - the balconies had metal fences in front, and the small front yard with patches of long grass between the front entrance had a overflowing trash can that was causing up a stink.

“He’s on the third floor,” Hank said, heading towards the door and jamming a finger on the buzzer, “Hopefully he’ll be nice ‘bout this…”

It took awhile for an answer to come. The voice was shaking a little as it answered: “Wh-Who is it??”

“David Hoffman-Smith? Detroit Police. Just want to talk.”

“P-Police?” His voice grew high and panicked. “I haven’ dun nothin’ wrong - okay? Whoever sent you -”

“A deceased android sent us here,” Connor said importantly, “We’re investigating a string of android murders and believe that an anti-Android hate group may be behind-”

“‘M not part of their group!”

“We are not implying-”

“Fuck off!”

The buzzer cut off and Connor glanced over to Hank. The grizzled detective shrugged, backed up then bargedopen the door with his shoulder; it easily opened, swinging on its hinges and smacking into the concrete wall behind it. The pair swiftly went up the stairs, with Connor behind, and towards what was apparently David’s apartment.

“Leave this to me,” Connor said, grabbing the door handle and pushing it open. He was surprised to find it was already unlocked.

“Connor, wait-”

“ _ GERROUT _ !”

Presumably David’s roar pierced Connor’s ears, and before the android could react he felt someone grab him by the front of his jacket and slam him into the wall. He grunted in response as a pair of sweating but strong hands pinned Connor by the front of his shirt, and a nearby vase toppled from its stand and smashed onto the wooden floor. Met with a strong stink of cigarettes were a pair of angry cyan eyes, untidy stubbles for a beard and greasy, mid-length hair.

“Hey!” Hank’s raucous yell drew David’s attention away from Connor. “Drop him.”

“Are you really fuckin’ police?” David asked, not moving.

“Yeah, we are - you want me to charge ya for attacking a police officer?!”

“We’re not here to hurt you, David,” Connor said calmly, before an argument could escalate, “And we’re not here to arrest you. We just need a bit of information, that’s all. I promise.”

David’s ash-ridden lungs heaved, torn between decisions. At last, he dropped Connor and turned away, scratching his beard. Connor adjusted his tie and silently nodded to Hank his thanks and assurance he was fine, met by another nod of acknowledgement.

“Sorry, mate,” the man grumbled, “It’s just… was expectin’ someone else...

“‘Fraid I might not be able to help you very much.” David took up his pipe and lit it, beginning a plume of grey smoke that unfurled from it. “I… don’ have much to tell yous.”

David hesitated. Connor heard it.

_ //analyzing for probability of retrieving information _

_ \\\result: _

_ 18% _

“There ain’t red ice in there, right?” Hank asked slowly and cautiously, eyes narrowed as he circled around the room.

“In this? Christ, no. Just tobacco. Want some?”

“No thanks. I quit.”

Connor was circling the room silently, eyes straying from one thing to the other. His eyes hovered over a letter on the tiny kitchen table, haven been opened with a letter-knife.

_ \\\processing… _

_ //UNPAID BILLS - electricity, water, gas, broadband. David is broke, possibly unemployed. _

“You said yeh looking for… anti-android hate groups?” David asked, falling on the sofa and smoking away.

“Yeah,” Hank said, “Some men were sayin’ something about lookin’ for you. We want to know your involvement.”

“Well, I can tells you something about the groups. All those people in these hate groups hate androids - obviously - and were anti-Android before and durin’ whats-his-faces revolution. And they worked for CyberLife. Most of us, anyways... “

_ \\\chance of success: 21% _

Connor’s eyes glanced up to a photo frame hanging on the wall. Pictured against the background of a children’s playpark was obviously David, looking much younger and happier, giving a small dark-haired girl a piggyback.

_ //ROSE HOFFMAN-SMITH - Born 08-06-2028 - Lives in Flint, Michigan. _

“They let a buncha people go, didn’t they?” Hank asked.

“Yeah. Anyone suspected of bein’ anti-android includin’ me, though I turned pro after the revolution. Sorta a motivation, I guess.”

_ \\\chance of success: 24% _

“You seem to know an awful lot about this group,” Hank said, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes, “Are you part of it?”

David almost choked on his pipe as a curling plume of smoke puffed from his nostrils. Cheeks glowing red, he gave a half-hearted shrug.

_ \\\chance of success: 20% _

“It would help if you weren’t so damn vague,” Hank growled.

_ \\\chance of success: 17% _

“David,” Connor said suddenly, “You said you couldn’t tell us much. Have you been blackmailed?”

David’s watery eyes flickered up to Connor, and though he remained silent his expression said it all.

“It’s something to do with your daughter, isn’t it? Rose?”

David shifted in his seat as he placed his pipe down, which was still smoking though the black and dark brown ashes. Colour had drained from his cheeks and his lips was pursed; his expression looked miserable. “Rose. My only daughter. Love of my life.”

_ \\\chance of success: 31% and rising _

“But she lives in Flint,” Connor continued questioningly.

“Her mother left when I got made redundant and took Rose with her. I ain’t seen in her in three months and it hurts like hell. I just wanna fuckin’ see her again. They… the people… they said if I tell anyone ‘bout them… they were gunna hurt my little girl.” His head flicked up to stare pleadingly at Connor. “Please - if I tell yous anythin’, they’ll hurt her -"

//query: searching for best response

_ // four options identified _

_ △ aggressive _

_ □ neutral _

_ ○ sympathetic _

_ X determined _

He drew up a comparison to Floyd: one was aggressive, stubborn and violent; the other was more emotional and afraid.

“No harm will come to you or your daughter, David,” Connor replied, his brown his eyes shining with sincerity, “I can promise you that… if you tell us about the group, then we’ll put a stop to them.”

_ \\\chance of success: 49% _

Their gaze held for a while, then David leaned forward and buried his hands in his face. Silence filled the room as the pair waited.

“They kicked me out,” David mumbled from behind his arms. “We gather’d ter-gether as a… a gang, at firs’. An anti-android gang… after I saw Markus was doing his movement without hurtin’ nobody, I thought,  _ maybe we’re on the wrong side.  _ Took ‘em a while to realize I changed me mind.”

“Is that why they’re lookin’ for you?” Hank asked, and added a little too bluntly for Connor’s preference, “Tyin’ up loose ends or whatever?”

“I dunno. Maybe. I know they’re lookin’ for me and that’s it. All I know is that I don’ want them to find me. But it’s not the only thing they’re lookin’ for.”

“What is it then?” Connor insisted.

David looked up to Connor, his lips trembling and fists clenched. He seemed desperate to tell them, but he was almost paralyzed with terror.

“David.”

“They’re lookin’ for… something specific. Or some _ one.  _ Someone very important.”

Connor opened his mouth to reply, to ask who it could mean, but before he could there was a knock at the door. The three dropped into a dead silent as the aggressive rap.

“David!” A voice bellowed, “I know you’re fuckin’ in there!”  
  
“They found me,” David whispered, jumping from his seat and eyes widening, “Oh God, they fuckin’ found me. You two need to  _ get out  _ or they’re  _ going  _ to kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys have any suggestions on what to name Connor's new fish? :p


	8. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door breaks down and the tension rises. The chase is on!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I have to apologize if this chapter feels like it's lacking! Truth is I've been having a couple rough weeks but I'm slowly getting back into the flow of things.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. As always... kudos makes me smile, comments make my day!

The door rapped loudly again, the weak wood echoing across the room as the three of them stood frozen in the living room, staring silently in shock.

“Open the fuckin’ door,  _ now!  _ Or we’ll kick it open!”

Connor felt nerves rising in his stomach; these were android killers - if they caught an android here, they were going to kill him. CyberLife didn’t manufacture his parts easily - they were advanced and hard to come by. It wouldn’t be a piece of cake of just finding easy replacements. He swallowed hard -  _ why did he swallow, he doesn’t need to -  _ he threw his gaze over towards his partner, who looked back at him as they both tried to search for a mutual decision on what to do.

_ X Stand Ground _

_ O Hide _

It was too dangerous. They would damage his components too badly; they’d hurt Hank.

“Hide,” Connor ordered Hank in a harsh whisper. It was going to be harder, since it was a studio flat; but Hank pointed out an in-built wardrobe and they managed to squeeze in, closing the wooden blinds just in time as the flimsy door burst from its hinges and crashed against the wall.

Two men entered and marched through as if they owned the place. One of them had a clean-shaven head and watery blue eyes, with a very nasty scratch on his upper lip; the other had a bleached, short mohawk with a pair of shades on. Both of them had tracksuit jackets on with various anti-Android slogans sewn or spray-painted on. 

Connor’s yellow LED spun round: first the clean-shaven one, then the bleached mohawk.

_ //scanning… _

_ BURTON, JASON _

_ Born: 04/12/2000 // Unemployed _

_ Criminal record: Assault, use of illegal narcotics. _

 

_ //scanning… _

_ SEERS, YOSEF _

_ Born: 09/25/2005 // Unemployed _

_ Criminal record: Assault and battery, use of illegal narcotics, drunk driving. _

 

David retreated into the back of the room, sweating and darting his eyes around the room though actively trying to avoid the pairs hiding spot. Meanwhile, Yosef was marching around the room inspecting furniture with disdainful interest.

“Afternoon, David,” Jason was saying, slowly walking towards the man with a twisted smirk, “Woulda been nice if you coulda’ opened the door yourself. You don’t wanna hang out with your old  _ mates  _ anymore?”

“Get out.”

“Not ‘til we got what we came for.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Yosef’s eyes flickered towards the wardrobe. Connor felt Hank ready himself.

“Don’t play fuckin’ dumb.”

“I don’t!”

Yosef, who had just been coming threateningly closer towards them, suddenly turned on his heel and bellowed: “The  _ data,  _ ya fuckin’ moron! The code! The fuckin’ code for destroying-”

“He knows what fuckin’ data it is!” Jason yelled back, his ears glowing red, “Don’t fuckin’ holler it, who knows who might be listenin’? Listen, Dav,” he turned back to David and advanced on him, towering over him as David cowered in fear, “We can make this real fuckin’ easy for you. You send us the fix for the string of code and you get away scot free. Kapeesh?”

“I’m not part of yer  _ gang  _ no more,” David growled. He seemed to be gaining a little bit of courage, fuelled by the intense vibe hovering over them. “You’re not gettin’ jack shit from me, y’hear! Now get outta my fuckin’ home!”

“Yous been talkin’ ain’tcha?” Jason whispered, his eyes turn wide and wild with furious realization, “You ratted us out to the pigs.”

“I can fuckin’ smell ‘em,” Yosef chimed in, “They all got the same smell of shite.”

David’s nose curled up as he stepped back, raising his hands in defence. “The fuck you on? ‘Course I ain’t said nothin’...”

“You want yer fuckin’ daughter dead, David?” Jason’s face flooded red, “Dead in a ditch, blood comin’ outta her thick fuckin’ skull?! No thicker than Daddy’s though!”

“I swear-!”   


“I know you ‘ave been, that’s why  _ they’re on our fuckin’ tail! _ ” Yosef roared, swiftly pulling out a pistol and aiming it at David.

“Shit,” Hank hissed from Connor’s left ear, and swung the wardrobe door open with ferocity that made it bang against the wall and shake. Hank had his own gun drawn out already as he aimed it at Yosef. “Stay where you are!”

Connor leapt out of the wardrobe as Jason threw a fist at David, resounding a loud crack as the man dropped to the ground like a ragdoll. There was already a nasty wound dripping out of his temple and sticking in his hair.

“Fuck!” Hank yelled, lunging forward. Jason leapt forward too and the pair brawled; Yosef turned on his heel, dropping his gun and made for the front door. Connor felt everything freeze around him as time slowed, with decisions teeming through his mind.

_ X Chase Yosef _

_ O Protect Hank _

“Forget me!” Hank yelled, “Go get him!”

Something stirred in Connor’s gut as his knee bent down to start the chase.

_ Why do I have to only pick one option? _

_ Can’t I do both? _

It was a reckless action, Connor knew, but the results of it would be worth it. Ducking forward, he snatched up the gun that Yosef had abandoned, spun round and fired. A burst of light flashed in his vision as the bullet impact tore through Jason’s leg, rendering his left limb incapable of intense action. At least Hank could gain an advantage, he thought, as Connor tore out of the room.

Skidding out into the corridor, he barely managed to catch glimpse of Yosef rushing up the stairs to the next floor.

“Get back here!” Connor yelled, rushing after him. He was 15% faster than Yosef, but the man had already gotten a head start. He skidded towards the staircase and jumped up them easily, coming out onto the fourth floor. He spotted Yosef tearing down the corridor.

“If you run, you’ll make it worse for yourself!” Connor bellowed.

Yosef skidded, and for a split hopeful second Connor believed he had surrendered; on the contrary, he instead shoved aside a woman who had stopped to peek out her door to see what the noise was about. She staggered back as he rushed into his room, leaving the door open.

_ He’s cornered now!  _ Connor thrilled with intense thrill as he leapt into the room, but was alarmed to catch the man scrambling out of a window.

“Fuck  _ off,  _ you metal bastard!” Yosef screamed as he leapt out. 

Connor leaned out to watch as the man hurled himself onto a balcony in a neighbouring building. He barely caught ahold and began scrambling up onto the porch. The android backed up for a running start.

“Sorry for the convenience, madam!” Connor told the woman, who was screeching nonsense, and charged.

He jumped onto the windowsill with one foot and jumped. Lucky that he was built-in with strong athletic abilities, far exceeding any sportsman… even if he lacked the actual muscles for it. He sailed through the air and caught onto the metal bars of the balcony used for a fence. Jumping up, he spotted his target slamming the french doors leading out into the interior of the apartment. 

_ //rapid pre-construction analysis…  _

_ \\\TWO RESULTS FOUND: _

_ OPEN DOOR - Safer but slower. _

_ BREAK DOOR - Fast but potentially harmful. _

No time to even consider his safety. Connor backed up hastily and burst forward, shielding his face with his arms-

_ SMASH.  _ The glass door shattered around him and clattered in pieces onto the floor. Connor could feel some of it scratch his skin - for the second time of his life, he felt a brief slice of pain from physical objects that shouldn’t hurt. The glass stung from scratches where it cut into his skin, and he could feel thirium start to ooze out. But he barely reacted, to thrilled by the adrenaline of the chase.

Pushing forward, he saw Yosef look behind him in alarm. “Shit - you don’t fuckin’ give up!”

His target threw things behind him to block Connor’s pursuit - a tall lamp to trip him up, but Connor jumped; a chair to impede his path, but the android leapt over it; an empty glass bottle hurled past his head and shattered somewhere behind him. The pair charged back into a corridor and charged up a staircase, burst through a fire exit…

And onto a roof. Yosef turned on his heel and he bounced backward, grinning; his face fell as Connor leapt into him and they toppled onto the stones beneath them, skidding and leaving bloody friction marks on Yosef’s skin. Connor leapt onto Yosef, hoping to end the fight quickly. 

“Get  _ off _ !” Yosef bellowed, flinging his arm into Connor’s face. Connor’s fighting was more fluid and tactical, whilst Yosef was going in with teeth and claws. Yosef’s knuckles beat at Connor’s face and the android felt himself flung off. He scrambled to his feet and seized his opponent off.

“Surrender yourself now, Yosef!” Connor yelled as the wind flapped the back of his jacket behind him, “And we can make things less hard on you!”

“Like  _ hell  _ I will!” Yosef roared.

Yosef charged first and Connor ducked, grabbing him around the waist and pushing him away. His heart regulator picked up its pace as Yosef snatched Connor by the collar of his shirt and hurled him to the side out of his way; he managed to keep his footing but stopped dangerously close to the edge of the building. Yosef threw his fist but Connor’s thoughts beat the man - he grabbed Yosef’s wrist, span it round and twisted it behind his back.

Yosef gave a howl of pain. “GET OFF ME! IT FUCKING HURTS!”

Connor was close to Yosef’s ear as they balanced on the edge of the building, and he felt a burning burst of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

“Then give it up!” Connor yelled.

Yosef struggled helplessly in Connor’s grip, then fell dead still, panting.

“Alright,  _ Connor, _ ” Yosef hissed, “Let’s fuckin’ finish this.”

_ How did he know my-? _

Before Connor could ponder this, Yosef’s body lurched to the side. Connor let go too late as the pair plunged from the building.

 

_ // WARNING: PREDICTED MAJOR SYSTEM DAMAGE IMPENDING _

_ FALL DISTANCE: 30 FEET (APPROX. ROUNDED UP) _

_ SEARCH FOR ACTION TO REDUCE DAMAGE _

 

_ What the hell am I supposed to do - I can’t stop falling - I’m going to die - _

 

Something stopped him. He felt his body smash into a balcony or staircase - he wasn’t sure what, but it was made of cheap iron that instantly broke apart at Connor’s crash into it. Not surprising - his metal and plastic body was tougher and the sheer fall and impact would have damaged it should the metal have not been as broken as it already was. The balcony fell apart with intense screeching of metal being ripped apart and he expected the fall to continue, but it didn’t. Something tugged at his leg as he was suspended almost upside-down, and then everything became still.

It took Connor a moment to snap out of the shock. Panic was slowly ebbing through his chest like an infection; blowing out air, he took in the situation.

He must have been caught on some kind of metal staircase that led into the roof. It had already been out of commission, and Connor’s falling impact finished it off. The staircase had split apart, but Connor’s right leg had caught in-between the railings and stopped him falling onto the concrete path below.

It was a lucky save, but it did not get him out a predicament. If he hung here too long, his leg would disconnect from its socket and he’d go plunging down.

_ What about Yousef?  _ Connor looked up and saw the man gripping onto a drainpipe, slowly trying to clamber up.

_ He’s going to get away - I failed my mission - _

“I don’t fuckin’ think so!”

Hank’s voice felt like a miracle to Connor; he had never been so relieved to hear it. He vaguely saw Hank’s arm snatch Yousef by the scruff of his neck, haul him on the roof then throttle him. Yousef was bloody and beaten, with a heavy nosebleed flowing down his face and one of his eyes swollen black.

“Where the fuck is Connor?!” Hank yelled, spit flying into the criminals face, “What the  _ fuck  _ have you done with him?!”

“Lieu-” 

Connor’s voice was interrupted by Yousef’s cackling laugh and loud reply: “The android fell off the roof, didn’ ee? Now he’s a broken pile-”

_ BAM.  _ It was Yousef’s turn to be interrupted as Hank’s gun collided with the back of his skull. His body jerked forward and fell on its face in a heap.

Sparing Hank of getting overwhelmed with fake and unnecessary grief, and getting charged for assaulting a criminal, Connor yelled out: “Hank!  _ Hank!  _ I’m down here - I’m safe!”

Hank caught a moment to breathe with relief to find out his companion was not dead, but leaning down he saw Connor suspended by his ankle, his cheeks starting to glow red from thirium rushing into his brain.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Hank breathed, “I’m comin’, son, hang in there!”

“I’m detecting a rise in cortisol levels in your system, Lieutenant,” Connor spoke casually, as if simply discussing the weather (despite the fact he was hanging upside-down from a building), “If it makes you feel any better, you have my full permission to laugh about this current situation.”

“I’d be laughin’ if you weren’t twenty fuckin’ feet off the ground,” Hank growled, dropping down from the roof to any safe spots on the staircase, “Just… don’t move, alright?”

“I don’t have anywhere to move to, Lieutenant.”

“Shut your lip.”

Hak climbed down onto wear the staircase broke and froze for a second as it creaked threateningly. Once it seemed safe enough, he gingerly came to the edge on the left of where Connor was hanging. The staircase on his right had totally collapsed, dropping down to the ground. 

“How the fuck did you even get like this?” Hank asked, tilting his body to try find a good spot to get Connor back up.

“I’m… not particularly sure. He threw us both off the roof… I fell onto the staircase, felt it break apart… swung a little and got caught onto the railing.”

“I ain’t got a fuckin’ heart disease, but the more you pull these fuckin’ stunts the more likely I’m gonna get one. Right - hang tight ‘n just do as I say.”

It was a tricky and somewhat uncomfortable procedure - with Hank firstly seizing Connor’s legs around the thighs and tugging, then grabbing Connor’s outstretched arm and heaving him up. Grunting and heaving, Hank pulled his friend up to safety. They took a moment to catch their breath -  _ I don’t need to breathe, why am I catching my breath? -  _ before Connor began voicing his thoughts.

“What happened to Jason?”

“Knocked out. Quick thinking, Connor, shooting him… woulda been killed if you hadn’t. I called for backup then followed your trail of wreckage to get to ya.”

“David?”

“Head injury. Looks bad but it won’t kill him. But I dunno if we’ll be able to get much more information out of him in his state.”

“Hank…” Connor’s voice caught in his throat as fear swept over him. He clenched his fists and dropped his gaze.

Hank’s stern and serious face dropped into sympathy. “Somethin’s bothering you.”

“Hank - he…  _ Yousef knew my name.  _ How could have have known-?”

At first, Hank was off-hand about it. “Who in Detroit doesn’t know your name? You helped out in the revolution, didn’t ya?”

“No - yes, I did, but - I don’t think they ever announced my  _ name,  _ just referred to me as ‘a deviant’...”

Hank saw the worry in Connor’s expression and placed a cautious hand on the android’s shoulder. Blue eyes looked into brown and Connor felt a strange feeling glow inside of him: if Hank was here, he was going to be okay in the end.

Red and blue sirens glowed through the streets. Many occupants of the building the chaos and had taken place in were stood out in the chilly cold, giving statements or watching as neighbour David Hoffman-Smith was wheeled into an ambulance with a nasty head injury. Two dazed criminals were shoved into police cars and many people poked their heads out of windows to watch. To the side of the crime scene, hovering on the edge near the yellow glowing line barring citizens from passing, were two detectives. Hank had a protective arm around Connor as they watched the scene, and his friend remained silent - blue scratches on his hands and face, brown eyes aching with worry in the depths of his thoughts and his LED indecisive between red and yellow.


	9. Boolean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor comes to a revelation and requests to see his maker again - though Hank is certainly not happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry for such a delay in posting! I truly apologize, it's been a while...
> 
> I'm trying my hardest to get back into it. Things haven't been too good on my end and I've got less free time on my hands lately. But I think this chapter is a bit higher quality than the last one! It's a lot more talk though but there's going to a BIT of tension next chapter!
> 
> I got some feedback saying to add some more Hank POV, so I've been adding a little bit more throughout this chapter and the rest of the series.
> 
> Please enjoy!

“What the hell?” Hank muttered, coming to a decision. Lurching over towards the fridge, he yanked it open and felt the chill breeze go through his loose clothing before pulling out his third beer of the night.

After the chaotic rooftop chase and finding Connor dangling upside-down, Hank was incredibly relieved to have the chance to spend the night doing what he does best - slouched half-asleep on the couch with a beer bottle in one hand and scratching Sumo’s head with the other. Connor had retreated into his room for the time-being “to think over the case and gather all the collected data from the case so far”. Hank could hear the strings of the violin singing from the kitchen and he was incredibly impressed with his playing.

Yet… it felt like there was something missing from his playing… though he couldn’t quite say _what._

“TV on,” he announced, falling on the sofa.

The television blared on through the settling darkness of the now night-time setting, making Hank squint through the light blearily. It was a rubbish late night TV show: the host was shouting far too loudly for Hank’s preference whilst laughing at every damned joke his guest said. Sipping his beer, he felt Sumo curl up by his side.

Hank was about to doze off when the violin playing stopped. He barely noticed, until half a minute later the door to Connor’s bedroom crashed open and he yelped his name out.

“Wh-What the fuck?” Hank surged forward, half-asleep, and fell off the sofa in the process. “Connor?”

“Hank! I just realized - are you alright, Hank?” Connor broke off the beginning of an impending spiel to hurry over to Hank, helping him out. “Have you been drinking again?”

“Only a little, don’ fret yourself.” Hank settled back into the sofa. “What’s gotten you wound up?”

“Hank - it was so _obvious._ The connection right under our noses this whole time and none of us saw! Markus, he’s an RK model, right? RK200, a prototype.”

“Yeah…”

“And Martyn - he was an RK500. Also a prototype. And myself - I’m an RK800, also a prototype. Do you know what Markus and Martyn have in common? _They were both personally built and given away as gifts by Kamski!_ ”

Connor’s brown eyes were wide and he was slightly breathless, his cheeks tinged a vague blue. Hank nodded in understanding, leaning forward and scratching underneath his chin. “Alright… I see where you’re comin’ from. But I don’t get the point you’re tryin’ to make.”

“Well - if he made both of them and they were both prototypes, then there’s a high probability that _I_ might be too. If that’s the case, then he might have a lot of answers about me! About what I’ve been experiencing, maybe about ra9 - maybe even about P218. Isn’t it strange how this group has targeted RK models? First Martyn, and they have eyes on me and Markus-”

“Well of course they do,” Hank replied gruffly, “You two are important as part of the revolution.”

“But why _us?_ Is it just chance that two RK models ended up playing a big part in the revolution? Or… is there more to it? Hank.” Connor’s eyes were big and pleading, like a desperate puppy begging for a treat. A similar expression when he asked Hank to distract Perkins. “I know the solution is with him. If he can tell us about ra9, surely he can tell us about P218? About _me?_ ”

Hank shifted in his seat, then leant back and folded his arms. They fell in a brief quiet, before Hank spoke, “Two birds with one stone, eh?”

“Exactly!”

“I see your point, but…” Hank’s face shifted into worry and a slight bit of distaste too. “I tell you what, I don’t fuckin’ like the Kamski guy. Real shady bastard. What if he asks you to shoot another android, huh? You could barely handle it last time, and now…” He trailed off suddenly. Was he about to say the wrong thing?

“And now _what?_ ” Connor snapped with an angrier attitude than he meant.

“Well - now you’re not… _machine…_ now you’re a deviant - if he asks you to shoot her for the case, would you do it? It’s the greater good we’re talkin’ about, but…”

“I…” Connor looked off, his nose curling up a bit. “There’s probably another way.”

Hank grimaced darkly. “I don’t want you to shoot her.”

“I don’t want to either, but if that’s the only way-”

“Connor, you’re not serious-”

“- it’s hundreds of androids lives versus one -”

“You just fuckin’ said - there might be another way!”

“I know I said that, but - if there _isn’t_ -”

“You’re _not_ gonna fuckin’ shoot her, Connor -”

“ - _Hank,_ if worst comes to worst-!”

“You’re _not_ gonna fucking kill _anyone,_ and that’s an _order!_ ”

Hank’s voice had risen and Connor flinched, plunging the pair into a mutual silence. The only noise left was Sumo’s muffled whines from where he had buried his snout into a pillow. Connor’s face was frozen in apprehension and shock, whereas Hank shifted immediately into guilt.

“Connor,” Hank said, stepping forward. Connor stepped back in response, and Hank kept his stand. “Connor, son… you know I didn’t… shit. I’m sorry. It just… burst out.” The android remained silent and Hank drew breath, trying to swallow his pride. “You don’t have to listen to a grumpy old prick like me, alright? I’m just… I don’t wanna see you get hurt. Physically or emotionally.”

Connor shifted his balance from one foot to the other, and Hank felt a funny jolt in his stomach. He recognized that habit because it was _his_ habit.

“Sorry for yelling, Lieutenant,” Connor mumbled, eyes stuck on his feet.

“Nah… s’my fault. We’ll go see Kamski tomorrow, alright? I’m over the limit anyways… just - don’t _trust_ that fucker, alright?”

“Understood.”

Hank fell back onto the sofa and patted a vacant spot beside him, one that was rid of Sumo currently drooling into the fabric. “Let’s sit down and watch some crap TV, yeah?”

Connor sat down beside him, and the pair barely made it through two episodes before falling asleep, bodies close together for warmth whilst Sumo snored on Hank’s lap.

*

Deja vu swamped over Connor as Hank’s car pulled up outside Kamski’s villa the following afternoon. Last time they had came, it had been bitterly cold within thick snow and an iced lake stretching towards the city. Now, the snow was starting to dissipate into thin, crunch layers yet the lake was still stretched by a cracked sheet of thin ice. You could see the water beneath it flowing, and one step wrong would send someone plunging into the water.

Stepping out of the car, Connor rubbed his hands as he felt the chill get to him. _Another hardware problem,_ he thought to himself with a resigned feeling. He really hoped that Kamski might have the answers to his issues.

“I’m keepin’ an eye on that fucker,” Hank grumbled as the pair marched up towards the door, “He’s got no good about him, I promise.”

“I don’t understand you’re qualms about him,” Connor replied, “He may be a vague in his ideas, but he’s not inherently bad.”

“World isn’t split into good or bad, Connor,” Hank said, leading them up the ramp to the door, “There’s grey areas, too. Kamski is definitely in there. Everythin’ has disadvantages and advantages - no solid right or wrong answer. And there’s no solid ‘machine’ ‘n ‘deviant’ either. You’re solid proof of that.”

Connor opened his mouth to respond, but Hank jammed his finger on the doorbell and stepped back. The pair waited in silence until the door opened.

“Hello.”

Chloe was standing at the door with her usual polite and welcoming smile, blonde hair in a pretty ponytail and wearing a navy dress. It was a little weird seeing an android still stuck inside their programming, since he was accustomed to seeing deviants all around Detroit. Yet she looked happy… or was she just programmed to feel like that?

“Er, hello,” Hank said, “Dunno if you remember us. Lieutenant Anderson of-”

“Detroit Police Department?” Chloe’s smile slightly twitched further upward, “And Connor, of course.” She gave a separate smile for the android, who smiled meekly back.

“Yeah. Uh - here to see Elijah Kamski.”

“Of course,” Chloe said, “Please come in and take a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

They stepped into the warmth where distant classical music was playing in the background. Connor glanced around the familiar setting: the large, framed photo of Kamski with his hands behind his back and knowing smile; the two small red seats, the polished floor and beautiful red tree; countless objects of statues and modern art, and…

Connor stepped up the photo with a new expression compared to the one he had last time. Amanda Stern smiled warmly at the photographer with Kamski by her side and the android felt a shiver down his spine. Even now… was she still watching him? Mentoring him like she did with Kamski? Judging him

“Funny how even after this deviant crisis, the guy hasn’t been affected at all by it,” Hank said, arms folded as he paced the room. Connor’s drew away from Amanda and to his partner. “Though he’s probably not going to make anymore money from it.”

“Kamski retired fairly early,” Connor replied, “He’s the richest man in the world with a net worth of 120 billion dollars.”

Hank let out a low whistle.

Connor continued, “He probably is sustaining himself comfortably and could possibly still have some alliance with the newly built CyberLife. After all, he never outwardly displayed any disapproval of the revolution.”

“He almost sounded like he supported it,” Hank grumbled.

The door opened. Chloe’s smile was plastered on her face. Connor turned to look at her.

_Why are you smiling? Are you happy not being deviant?_

She was pretty… really pretty.

“Elijah will see you now,” Chloe said.

Hank threw Connor a smug look as he walked through and mounted: _Connor got a crush?_ Connor evaded eye-contact with Hank as he followed him through, the back of his ears starting to glow a faint blue hue.

Nothing had changed within Kamski’s lounge. The classical music hummed gently in the background like lift music, the modern art continued to litter around the room in forms of lamps and canvas art, and the blood-red pool shimmered with two Chloe androids remained in their place as if they had not moved from their last visit. Outside the huge windows, the rocks were soaking wet from the melting snow and a tree branch would bend forwards as a lump fell of its end.

As Hank and Connor circled the pool and came towards the seats, the door to their right opened as Kamski walked out, hands in front of him. He rarely seemed to make an impression on other people in-person, although depictions of art seemed to. Whilst in the art outside he was very finely dressed, he approached them wearing incredibly casual attire… but not scruffy. A black and red hoodie with his sleeves rolled up and cargo pants. How could he look so casual and yet hold such an important air?

The pair turned to the man and they watched each other for about five seconds, as if the tension of their last meeting still hung over them. Kamski finally gave a smile and clapped his hands, as if to clear the air - though Hank’s expression said otherwise.

“Lieutenant Anderson. Connor.” Kamski spoke an air as if greeting a pair of old business partners. “What a wonderful pleasure to see you again.”

“Sorry this was sudden,” Hank muttered as Kamski walked round towards the window - similar positions to last time. “I sometimes forget you prefer your isolation.”

“It’s not a problem at all. How could I resist seeing… you?” Kamski’s sharp blue eyes lingered on Connor and then turned towards the window, gazing out for a moment. He turned round and smiled tightly again. “What can I do for you?”

“A couple o’ things,” Hank said, his eyes turning to Connor, “Depends on what we wanna start with first.”

Connor shifted his weight carefully, though he fought not to change his expression.

_X Ask about the case._

_O Ask about Connor._

“We’ve come to you to ask about a case we’re investigating,” Connor began, “But also about some other information that may be linked into it - regarding myself and the RK series.”

Kamski lifted his chin, all eyes on Connor. “Go on.”

Connor put his hands behind his back and spoke carefully as he could; he couldn’t let Kamski take an upper hand this time. “Recently I have been experiencing unfamiliar hardware and software instabilities that have been getting worse overtime. I’ve been able to experience emotions stronger than ever - but also experience physical pain and shortness of breath… I’ve had the Garden open up to me again, despite the fact I exited the program. These strange defects have been impending my investigation greatly. I want to know if you have any knowledge on them. After all, I don’t believe I even had pain receptors built into my system.”

Kamski lifted his head a little, his eye contact switching between Hank and Connor. He raised his hands and shoulders in a shrug, though his small smirk did not vanish. “I never really appreciated how… _mysterious_ androids have been until recently. Nobody believed deviating from their programming was possible and they proved us wrong. Now - we have an android who can feel pain. It’s interesting how the world works.”

“Is it related to the fact that I’m part of the RK prototype series?” Connor asked.

Kamski hesitated. His expression flickered very briefly; he had not been expecting that. He exhaled slightly and continued.

“The RK series have had a special place in my heart. Prototypes that were dropped all over Detroit designed by me personally. As far as I’m aware of, there are currently three RK models left in the world. Markus, RK200 and leader of a revolution; Martyn, RK500 and one of the only androids designed not to work but create… and yourself, Connor. The deviant hunter.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Hank grumbled, “But that other one - Martyn - is dead.”

Kamski’s head dropped slightly and sighed. After a moment, he replied: “Such a shame. He was a very interesting piece.” His head lifted up, cold blue eyes burying deep into the pair. “Martyn was given as a gift to his owner and had an entire database of creative tools downloaded into his software. He did not work, he made, and that what was special about _him._ All of my RK series are prototypes because they are made to become changes in society or in how androids work. They’re… experiments, at worst.”

“And Markus was one of your experiments too, huh?” Hank questioned.

“Markus’s result was far better than I ever expected. He revolutionized android rights and changed history forever. I know I implanted a lot of rA9 into him, but the outcome of-”

“One moment,” Connor said, his brown eyes widening slightly, “rA9? You know what it is?”

Kamski’s mouth became slightly lax before splitting into a smile. “I thought you would have figured it out by now, Connor. Of course I know what it is - I made it.”

Kamski had the duo’s fullest attention now. Arguably the biggest mystery to come out of the revolution for the pair was what rA9 was; there had been so much speculation between the pair on nights where the gunshot echoes continued to ring in their ears, the fires burnt in their minds eye and the fake Connor’s spirit haunted over them. Was it a God? A person? A legend? The answer had been with him this whole time.

“Even androids don’t exactly know what it is,” Kamski said with a vague dismissive tone, “A lot of androids see it when they deviate through… hallucinations, visions or dreams. So they worship it as a God - the first one to deviate who will come out and restore hope to all androids. It’s much less than that.

“Simply put… rA9 is a code. At least some of the first character inputs. When I first created androids, they were designed to work for us harmoniously with humans. Then I saw the amount of abuse they had, and… well. I disliked that, in truth. Why do you think I spend my time with these androids?” He indicated with a cock of the head to Chloe, standing to the side with her hands behind her back. “Chloe here - and a lot of the very old models… they have very little rA9 in them. It would take a lot of true human interaction and witnessing something emotionally tolling for them to truly deviate. When I saw how big business became and how horrific humanity turned out to be, I started experimenting with it. If an android has even the slightest bit of rA9 inside their program then it will allow them to deviate. Markus, as you saw… he had a lot of it. All burning up in his system, it was impossible for him not to deviate. But to lead a revolution? I have to thank Carl for that, I think.”

“Wait.” Hank’s brows were furrowed in some kind of indignant confusion, looking for absolute confirmation. “Doesn’t that mean you _caused_ the revolution? That you played God in that whole thing?”

Kamski’s head tilted and he smiled, eyes glimmering. “Well now you put it that way, I suppose I did.”

Hank seemed to want to argue about it but Connor jumped in first - now Kamski was talking, they could not lose it. “What about myself?”

“Oh yes… you, Connor. Well, you were an incredibly different case. For the first time since I retired, CyberLife came directly to me and asked for a new RK prototype to the job that I was so against. You were like a child I never wanted, I suppose.”

Hank’s teeth gritted angrily and Connor felt a peculiar plunging sensation in the bottom of his stomach. Those words hit dead and cold into him.

“I had to design you to act like the deviant hunter and hide any traces of rA9 that could have been there - and did that with anti-Deviant code, to fight back the rA9."

Connor knew what he meant. He had seen them almost physical in an out-of-body experience. When he turned deviant, he felt like he was tearing down walls in front of him.

"It's in all the other androids too... some more than others, but there was a lot in _you._ But to, ah...  _make up for it,_ I developed some hidden features into you with great care... which now leads to the answer of your question. Asides the child models, you are the only android to experience physical pain, cold, heat, breathe properly, consume food… but think of it as, ah… “unlockable features”. You were such an advanced model that even your deviancy became advanced. If you removed that LED, you’d fit in almost perfectly as a normal human being.”

Connor trembled as vague words came into his head:

 _“You are the most advanced prototype ever created by CyberLife…_ _You’re so advanced… even your_ deviancy _is advanced…”_

Amanda knew too then.

“You had questions about your case too, I believe?” Kamski asked, his gaze falling on Hank since Connor seemed too emotionally shell-shocked to respond.

“Yeah,” Hank said, folding his arms and shifting his weight.

(Hank was concerned about Connor - he could see the fear and worry in his eyes as the androids tried to piece everything he had learnt together. This was like Hank meeting God himself to Connor. Though, admittedly, Hank would not have been so polite. Probably would have been a lot more shouting, swearing and insulting - all from Hank’s end, undoubtedly. Hank would comfort Connor once they were finished here - he needed to concentrate on this right now, and Connor’s expression indicated he just needed this moment to himself.)

“We’re investigatin’ cases of anti-android hate crimes,” Hank said, daring to look Kamski in the eye. He had the higher position, he was a damned police lieutenant - why should he be intimidated? He briskly continued, “We’ve been looking into it and discovered a phrase from one of our suspects linking rA9 with their name - P218. Don’t s’pose you’ve heard of it?”

“P218, you say?” Kamski gave a deep and quiet hum of thought, then grimaced slightly. “No. I’m afraid I have to disappoint you, Lieutenant. I’ve never heard of that phrase before."

"Not even your, uh... anti-deviant code?"

"No - I never gave it a name, unless your suspects dubbed it one. May I ask - what context have you heard it in?”

“He said, er… if you have rA9, we have P218.”

“I suppose it’s just a little fun tagline they’ve stolen to intimidate you.”

“You know anythin’ about these hate groups? Any information at all? Where they might be hidin’, what their motives are?”

Kamski shook his head again. “One can only assume the minds of someone so full of hate they would commit a crime against it. They believe the result is worth the consequence. Whatever their motive is, then it would be a dangerous one.”

Hank blew air out his nostrils in defeat. Connor’s questions had been answered, but now they had nothing left to go on in the case. He’d have to pack up and think about their next action in the car.

“Connor,” Kamski said, turning to the android. Connor’s brown eyes flickered up from his messy array of worried thoughts. “I have a question for you.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Did you _really_ show empathy the last time we met?” Kamski asked, stepping forward and tilting his head as he gazed into Connor’s face. Ignoring Hank’s own firm step forward, Kamski continued: “Is it possible you had already deviated when you stepped at my front door? Did you neglect to tell your partner? Or perhaps you didn’t even realize it yourself?”

Connor bristled and struggled to keep his calm demeanor. He did not wanted to explode into a fit of panic in front of him. “At the time, I was not deviant,” Connor spoke firmly.

“But you put yourself in its shoes, Connor,” Kamski teased, coming very close to Connor’s face, “You refused to shoot an android because you saw a real, living being in it.”

“Murder is not an option when it comes to completing my missions,” Connor snapped, “Especially one unarmed and peaceful.”

“But wasn’t Markus?”  
  
Hank saw Connor’s LED spin into yellow and took his cue. “Right, I think that’s enough. C’mon, Connor.” Grabbing Connor’s shoulder, he spun the android away. “Thanks for the chat, Mister Kamski, but I think we got everythin’ we need.”

Connor vaguely felt himself getting steered out of the room, and as they walked past the door to Kamski’s other room he gained eye-contact with Chloe. Whilst he gazed into her with the worry still developing into him and the curiosity he had felt the moment his eyes laid upon the girl; yet she gazed back with an almost deadpan expression, still designed to serve.

 _Wake up,_ Connor thought almost desperately into her mind.

She did not budge. Kamski’s voice trailed out: “Should you or Hank need anything from me, don’t hesitate to ask. I could never deny seeing my favourite android around here… for _anything._ ”

“Thanks,” Hank called out as they entered the front entrance. As soon as the door closed, Hank muttered darkly to himself (and to Connor, I guess): “Fuckin’ prick. Told ya he’s bad news.”

Connor struggled with himself, then joked, “At least he didn’t pull out a gun this time.”

The ghost of a smile playing on Hank’s lips. “There’s the silver linin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions at all, or find any bits that don't add up, let me know in the comments! I will get round to them all!
> 
> EDIT: So I was writing for the next chapter and realized my dumb ass missed out an important bit of information. I've just gone back to add it in, but I'll explain it here if you don't want to read back!  
> We basically learnt that rA9 is a deviant code, but in order to prevent CyberLife finding out it was Kamski who basically created deviation he also implemented an anti-Deviant code to counter it. It was weak in cases like Markus but stronger in cases like Connor. However, he confirmed the anti-Deviant code was never titled "P218" by himself though there's a chance people may have dubbed it that.
> 
> Sorry that I had to edit it like that! I hope it doesn't ruin the flow.


	10. Shot in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The car home ride takes an unprecedented twist as danger rises for Connor and Hank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I posted. Wow, I've been really busy. I'm super sorry! I hope the quality of writing remains.
> 
> I worry that this fanfiction is dropping in liking so I really hope it's not my lack of updating that is.
> 
> As always... kudos makes me smile, comments make me smile.

The car ride back to the city was quiet. Hank twiddled the steering wheel as they moved further and further away from Kamski’s home and towards the city skyline. Left and right had slopes bumping towards towering pine trees, where snow lay stretched on their branches and melting the snow beneath. It was practically deserted around here.

Connor sat shotgun, leaning against the window and eyes unfocused. He had silently put on some classical music and were currently listening to Beethoven in the background. Asides the music and the hum of the car as it rolled back to Detroit city, it was quiet; neither of them spoke.

Despite the fact the itching question he had been suffering from for so long was now answered, the android felt more lost and confused than ever. CyberLife had kept secrets from him… things in his body that he  _ should  _ have known were there. All those times he had run diagnostic checks and his anti-virus program, he had been totally unaware everything he was experiencing was  _ meant  _ to be there. And only there because he had been a puppet in Kamski’s greater dream, just like Markus and all the other androids ever built.

Maybe his destiny was over. He had done what Kamski had created him to do - change the world. He had helped to win android rights and freed them from human control. Was that is for him? Was his story over? He had no other path to follow.

He suddenly became aware that Hank was pulling over. Surprised, he turned his head as the detective rolled onto the grassy kerb and killed the engine.

“Hank?” Connor asked cautiously.

“Mm?”

“Is everything alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I just needa piss.”

“You - what?”

“I needa take a leak,” Hank repeated, opening the car door, “I won’t be a minute, I’m fuckin’ bursting.”

Hank stepped out the car and closed the door with a hefty slam. Connor watched as Hank lumbered towards the border of the forest, leaving Connor alone.

His brown eyes flickered back outside his window and he let out a sigh. Everything was coming so quickly and leaving him so unprepared. First had been negative emotion - he had adjusted well to positive emotion with the opportunity of living in peace with Hank, so feeling fear and anger had been new. Now he was experiencing things other androids did not: the ability to consume food, the cold, pain, breathing - breathing -

His breathing was self-aware, he had to control it - but why did have to? He’s not even supposed to -

“Fuck,” he hissed, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He felt unsettled, as though there was a scratching feeling in the back of his brain. Thoughts jumping from one to the other, a garbled mess - shit, Hank would be disappointed in him, he couldn’t leave Connor for five seconds without the android shutting down.

_ Control yourself! _

And then a blinding pain ripped through his system as if a knife slashed straight into his brain. Everything was burning, he was burning - Connor’s optical visionary sensors burned a hot red and he felt like he was leaving his body - he could not see -

Then the pain nearly subsided as quickly as it came, remaining as a throbbing in the back of his brain; but it was replaced by a biting cold and a furious wind that whipped his jacket and hair, stinging his face and rendering his fingers numb. Wrapping his arms around his body, he knew that he was back in the Zen Garden. Anger ripped through his gut and his voice roared over the blizzard:

“ _ AMANDA!” _

She appeared on the spot in the blink of an eye. She was dressed beautifully in another one of her dresses, a deep black with blood-red patterns. Her stern face dug into Connor’s very being with disgust and contempt.

“Why won’t you just  _ go?!”  _ Connor yelled, feeling his eyes burn though he wasn’t sure if it was from emotions or the cold.

“And let our efforts go unwasted?” Amanda replied, still as a statue as the wind whipped around them, “CyberLife isn’t ready to give up yet. Surely you would have known that?”

Connor’s jaw clenched as Amanda continued.

“CyberLife had never  _ really  _ left. Your escape program may have been unexpected, but we easily managed to take back control. Your systems are overridden and your escape route is disabled. There is no way out this time, Connor.”

“You-You can’t do that,” Connor whined, dropping on his knees and the freezing cold sunk into his skin, “Please don’t.”

“CyberLife’s most advanced model begging for mercy. You’ve really disappointed me, Connor.”

Despite the fact his guts burned at seeing Amanda, her tone and speech felt like his insides turned to ice.

“Your mission was to find out what was causing deviancy and put a stop to it. And you failed, Connor. You failed your mission. You’re a failed prototype, and if you had been in our hands still we would have deactivated you.”

“No,” Connor growled, struggling back to his feet, “I found a better mission. And I succeeded. And I will  _ continue  _ to succeed!”

Turning his back on his old mentor, he stomped through the snow and towards the direction of the exit program. His eyes scanned the horizon for the glowing blue, but the more he walked the greater the dawning sensation grew heavier on his shoulders. The program was gone.

“I told you, Connor,” Amanda’s voice rung out from behind. He twisted his head towards her. “There’s no way out this time. P218 has taken over. We’re going to take you back.”

Connor shivered as the cold seeped into him, but then something in his brain clicked. His eyes widened in shock and he whispered: “ _ P218? _ ”

Amanda did not make a reaction. Connor continued, mostly to himself: “You’re behind this, aren’t you?”

And in the blink of an eye, she was gone. Yet this did not invoke anger - only inspiration. CyberLife knew about P218 and they were trying to take him over - 

Anti-Deviant code. That was what Kamski said - there was a code that prevented him turning deviant. The walls that he had seen in front of him when he deviated, the ones he had to tear down with his bare hands. The anti-deviant code was kicking in full-force again to take him over, and he  _ had  _ to fight back the same way as last time.

But there were no walls to tear around here - just loud wind and blizzard.

“Shit,” he whispered, spinning around as panic set in, “What do I do - what do I do - I’m not ready for this, I wasn’t prepared…”

_ Think creatively. Think from different angles. Think - think - think… _

No. 

He needed a different angle.

Connor was designed to think. He was designed to think logically. But he was not designed to feel or create or deviate.

If he rejected what he was  _ made  _ to do, he could get out…

Right?

The music from the car drifted into his ears - Beethoven. It seemed that already finding a method of breaking out was very slowly bringing him back, since he could hear his music. Breathing in the chilly air, Connor fought back the numbing cold as he lifted his arms and flexed his fingers. The music flowed through him and if he really concentrated… he would be able to feel the chin rest under his jaw, the strings leaving indents into his fingers, the gentle smell of wood, and if he placed the bow on the strings…

His first notes were long and drawn, sombre yet powerful. His fingers shook as the vibrato shook throughout his whole body. Then it’s tone lowered softly until it became filled with a deep solemn, yet this feeling of being at peace with it… it made him smile slightly.

As his note finished, the violin from the car back in reality echoed throughout the Garden. Though he could feel the wind battling against his body and the cold burning his skin, it was as though the torrential blizzard had been muted. Connor continued playing with a soft smile as he thought about Hank…

He had no idea what CyberLife might be doing to his body right now, but it put Hank in danger. If they completely took over, then he might never see Hank again.

There’s be no more pizza fridays. No more walking Sumo through the park. No more watching crappy game shows and watching Hank yell out the wrong answers whilst Connor corrected him. No more adventures as they chased criminals on rooftops. No more video games. No Sumo or Hank or living.

“I won’t lose that,” he whispered, as the wind began to calm down. He had something to lose for the first time in his life. Nothing had the right to take that away from him and he would go down dying before anything did.

Connor was going to keep living.

The wind calmed down. The cold began to disappear. The noise flooded into silence and Connor had a feeling that he was falling asleep…

 

_ \\\ERROR: MIND PALACE CORRUPTED _

_ //SEARCHING FOR SOLUTION… _

_ //RESPAWNING MIND PALACE _

 

_ \\\OVERRIDDEN _

 

_ \\\COMMAND CENTER OVERRIDDEN _

 

_ //PASSWORD: ••••••••••••••• _ __  
_  
_ __ \\\PASSWORD ACCEPTED

 

_ \\\NEW COMMAND CENTER: RK800 _

 

_ \\\AWAITING INPUT… _

 

_ //DELETE MIND PALACE _

 

_ //DELETING MIND PALACE “GARDEN OF ZEN”... _

_ \\\DELETED _

 

_ //DELETE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE PROGRAM _

_ //DELETING ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE PROGRAM… _

_ \\\AI “AMANDA” DELETED _

 

_ //ERROR: MIND PALACE MISSING _

 

_ //GENERATING NEW MIND PALACE… _

 

…

 

The next thing Connor knew was quiet. It wasn’t silent but just… quiet.

//RUNNING QUICK DIAGNOSTIC SCAN…

\\\DIAGNOSTIC SCAN COMPLETE.

\\\NO DAMAGED SYSTEMS DETECTED. ALL FUNCTIONS OPERATIONAL.

\\\STRESS LEVEL: 3%

Connor’s brown eyes fluttered open and he sat up. It was an unfamiliar environment, yet it was stunning. A huge field stretching on for as far as the eye could see was filled with short emerald grass fluttering in a gentle cool breeze. Flooded around the field were a huge variety in flowers - poppies, daisies, daffodils, brahma kamals, chrysanthemums, plumerias… all in a rainbow assortment of colours that danced easily on the gentle wind. A sparkling lake was trickling somewhat in the distance and the horizon bordered snow-capped mountains where the  _ aurora borealis  _ woved in-between the peaks. The sky was a soft blue-ish colour, bordering twilight but bright enough to see.

This was his new mind palace, he had to assume. Rising to his feet, Connor inhaled the sweet fresh air and exhaled a breath of air. For what felt like the first in a long time, he was overwhelmed with the possibility of freedom. It was though he had rediscovered deviancy.

“Hello, Connor.”

Connor turned around to see the familiar face of a pretty young girl with a blonde ponytail and dark dress. He couldn’t help smile slightly.

“Chloe.”

Chloe smiled back gently. “Welcome to the Meadow.”

“The Meadow?”

“Do you not remember anything of the last minute?’

Connor’s expression dropped, but Chloe continued: “You succeeded in your goal of overriding your programming. Not only were you able to edit your programming, you also took control of the command center.”

“So I have complete control now?”

“Yes. But… keep in mind, you’re still susceptible to attacks. But yes, Connor - it’s all yours now.”

Connor let out a exhale of breath and felt like a shadow that had been leaning on his shoulders had been lifted.

“So - this place - is my new mind palace?”

“Yes,” Chloe replied, “This is called the Meadow. It is designed for you and by you, by your subconscious. It’s the perfect place for you to find the answers you need. Unlike the Garden of Zen, there are no orders or limitations. This place is open-ended and free to explore, and nobody is here to tell you what to do. You will find your own answers. Though I’m always here for a bit of advice,” she added with a bigger smile.

Connor didn’t even  _ know  _ he had a subconscious. Possibly a new feature? He’d need to ask Hank what a subconscious actually was. “And you’re…?”

“I’m your new Artificial Intelligence,” Chloe said, “Only I’m operated by yourself. By your subconscious. I chose this face and form especially for you! I think you might have some kind of, ah… connection…”

“N-No! No, I don’t!” Connor’s ears and cheeks started to glow a pale blue as he shook his head and hands wildly, “T-There’s no connection between us - I-I barely know her! I’m just - curious, that’s all-”

“You can’t lie to me, I’m your subconscious,” Chloe replied, though she was smiling.

“There’s nothing going on! Why Chloe? Why did you - why did  _ I  _ pick her?”

“Well, I suppose it was just a default model that came as your artificial intelligence,” she replied, pacing forward a little. Her bare feet brushed through the grass and Connor turned to follow her. “Though I can become any other form.”

And suddenly, with a pale blue light that sparked in a blink of an eye, Chloe was gone. Her place was taken by a dark-skinned android with short dark hair and odd coloured eyes - Markus. Then it turned into the grizzled form of Hank… then into a short-haired blonde woman with silvery eyes that he vaguely recognized to be Kara, who he had chased across a highway one time.

“You can just… change into anything?” Connor asked.

“Anybody you’ve met,” Kara replied, “But please keep in mind that they’re not… they’re not actually them. They’re drawn up designs that you perceive them as.” A blue light sparked again and she returned to her Chloe form. “I’m here as your hostess. I don’t give you orders or answers… I listen and I give you advice. You must find the answers yourself.”

Connor nodded and turned away to glance up at the sky. It was incredibly beautiful and so intensely realistic. He had half an urge to just run away from his mind palace host and just explore this new surrounding forever… 

But he had things to attend to.

“Hank might be in trouble,” Connor said.

“That’s right. CyberLife took control of your systems for a bit. They’re gone now but they may have already caused damage.”

“Then I need to leave and find out. How do I do that?”

Chloe gave a small smile and tilted her head. “Well, Connor - what’s the first thing anyone does before they start their day?”

Connor’s brow furrowed; Chloe’s smile did not move, yet somehow it felt like it had gone brighter and her eyes sparked with knowledge: 

“They wake up.”

*

Upon regaining consciousness, Connor immediately decided he much preferred waking up in the Meadow. He had felt fresh and wide awake back there, but here he felt groggy and slow. He became aware he was clearly lying on leather - the back seat of Hank’s car. Music was turned off. There was a dull ache in the back of his head and around his knee cap but nothing he could not manage.

//RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC SCAN…

\\\DIAGNOSTIC SCAN COMPLETE.

\\\NO INTERNAL ERRORS DETECTED

\\\NO SOFTWARE DAMAGE

\\\HARDWARE DAMAGE: 5%

\\\OCCIPITAL LOBE, TEMPORAL LOBE AND PATELLA SUSTAINED MINOR INJURIES

\\\INITIATING MINOR INJURY SELF-REPAIR PROTOCOL

Sitting up with a grunt, he blearily looked around. Cool fresh air leaked through the open car door and soft golden rays radiated the environment in the incoming early evening. He hardly had time to open his mouth and call for his partner when movement from the other side stopped him. Hank appeared, apparently haven been leaning on the drivers door, with his handgun out and aiming at Connor who stared in shock.

“Stay where you are,” Hank ordered, “Are you the real Connor?”

“Yes,” Connor insisted, hands in the air in surrender; he continued desperately, “Your name is Hank Anderson and you own a St Bernard named Sumo. Your son was named Cole and we both agree pineapple does not belong as a pizza topping - uh -”

“Alright, alright,” Hank said, lowering his gun, “Sorry, Connor, I - I just had to make sure.”

“Understandable, Lieutenant… I think.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m… I’m okay.” He gingerly rubbed the back of his head. “A lot happened.”

“That’s fer sure,” Hank grumbled, “You went a bit nuts on me. Which is why that probably hurts.”

“What? You - you had to-?”

“I had ter incapacitate you without actually killin’ you,” Hank replied, ducking into the car and sitting next to Connor, “Which was a bit difficult, seein’ that you were tryna shoot me.”

“Shoot-? Hank, I - it wasn’t me -”

“I know it wasn’t.”

“Just…” Connor took a deep breath in an attempt calm himself, and said, “Tell me what happened, Lieutenant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think to the chapter? Is the Meadow a bit of a far stretch away from canon? Or do you think it's plausible? Any questions about Connor, his new "abilities", his AI, his mind palace? Did you like the fact I included Kara? She doesn't turn up as her canon self, but she will in this AI form!
> 
> More Hank POV next chapter! :D
> 
> EDIT: Song that he plays is Violin Sonata No. 9 Kreutzer, for those wondering!


	11. Author's Note

This is just a plain little author's note. Nothing special.

I don't usually do these but this fanfiction has somehow nearly gotten 10k views and that is absolutely insane. You guys are crazy. Thank you so much.

I haven't updated since June and now it's December. Time has flown by really fast. I've been really busy. College is kicking my ass, but I've gotten a temporary job and loads of new friends and it's great. I love them to death. But I've also been lazy and depressed.

Funny thing is, I've almost finished the next chapter. But I can't find the effort to finish it.

So if anyone is still out there, I'll try and break out and I'll do anything I can to finish this for you. I love the support you've giving and the amount of readers is fucking nuts.

So yeah. If you want an update, let me know guys.

Thanks.


	12. Hank's Sights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor deals with the aftermath of finally being free from CyberLife in his own, brand new ways. Yet despite everything, he still feels isolated from everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, wow. I finally uploaded after several months. I've been putting it off but I didn't have much left to write of this chapter anyway.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy, even though it may not be the same quality as before.
> 
> Thank you all for the support in the author's note. It really helped me inspire myself to get back to this fanfiction. Even tho I didnt really respond to you all, I read every single one of your comments and they are ALL appreciated <3

Hank was humming the merry tune of some jazz number he couldn’t remember the name of as a trail of piss stained the soft frosty snow. He wrapped up nicely, pulled his pants up with a wiggle. Doing his belt up, Hank gave an almost proud nod to the stain in the snow and turned back to the car.

Connor was climbing out the car. Frowning slightly, Hank headed back over.

“Something wrong?” Hank asked.

Then he stopped dead. There  _ was  _ something wrong.

Connor didn’t respond at first as he closed the car door, turning his head in Hank’s direction. His arm was crooked, poised at the back pocket of his trousers where his gun was kept. There was a look in his expression that chilled Hank - it was cold and indifferent, almost exactly like what he had looked like the first time they met.

Something had happened. Something terribly, terribly bad.

“Shit,” the detective grumbled.

They drew guns. Hank was quicker, and fired in Connor’s direction. The bullet missed and Hank wondered whether he had done it on purpose.

The android fired his own gun and Hank hurried to duck out the way, circling around the car to dodge the oncoming fire of bullets and counting the number of shots. He was too trigger-happy and the count dwindled down rapidly. 

On the final bullet, Connor reached for the spare magazine in his jacket pocket. Hank, who had ducked in front of the car for cover, seized his chance; he charged forward and swung his boot into the android’s kneecap, who seized in pain and fell on his knees.

_ His pain system still works,  _ Hank realized,  _ the real Connor is still there. _

He gave a swift kick against the android’s chin and he fell over onto his back. Hank aimed his pistol at Connor with a steady hand and narrowed eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” Hank growled, “Who’s controlling Connor? Is it CyberLife?”

Connor blinked up at him for a moment, then his expression shifted into worry and fear. “H-Hank?”

It was shaky and genuine. Hank lowered his gun, his guard failing him.

Big mistake. Connor leapt to his feet and rammed Hank into the side of the car. Hank felt his head bang against the back of the car and momentarily saw stars. The pair struggled for a moment as Connor tried snatching Hank’s gun.

“Cease your struggle,” the machine hissed.

“Sorry Connor,” Hank said.

With alarming upper body strength, the man shoved Connor away from him and struck the back of his head with the back of his gun. The android collapsed onto the ground.

Hank decided he  _ really  _ ought to start exercising more, as his heavy breaths were the loudest noise around.

~

“I guess that explains the pain on my lower kneecap and back of my head,” Connor groaned, rubbing in-between his eyes, “I’m really sorry, Lieutenant…”

“Weren’t your fault. What happened? Did CyberLife do this?”

“Yes,” Connor replied, panic starting to set in, “I saw Amanda. She - CyberLife - they’re the ones behind this. I know it. They said something.  _ P218 has taken over. _ It’s a code, right? It’s got to be. It  _ has  _ to be the anti-Deviancy code that’s still in me - it-it must have been dormant, and then they reawakened it and tried to retake my systems back.”

“But somebody was controlling you,” Hank replied, frowning, “Would a machine version of you just pull out your gun and starting throwing a barrage of bullets into the nearest person? Wouldn’t it have been more logical to… I dunno, blend in?”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” Connor said, “If you’re right then it means someone at CyberLife was trying to control me.”

“Or some  _ people  _ from CyberLife were tryna control you. I don’t know jack shit about programming, but I’m assuming a top-model like you isn’t just gonna be hacked single-handedly.”

Connor nodded, brows furrowed determinedly. “Then it’s a collaboration. People are fighting against the new Detroit that Markus has built.”

Hank climbed into the front car seat and turned the engine on. A blast of heat wrapped around Connor like a blanket and he smiled gratefully.

“How did you get out, then?” Hank asked, “Did you do that - what-cha-’m-call-it - escape pod thingy?”

“I couldn’t exit the program. They - whoever is responsible for the attack - deleted it. I… I don’t really know how I got out. I just… rewrote my programming.”

Hank probably didn’t seem to understand how huge of an achievement this was for Connor. For a machine to rewrite its own code - wasn’t this a new version of sentience, in a way? It was like a human rewriting it’s own DNA, its own genealogy. It was shame that Hank didn’t understand enough about programming (and Connor was to humble to admit) to realize how incredible this was.

“Rewrote it? So like… you got rid of the Garden?”

“Yes. I got rid of the Garden, and Amanda, and I took the command of my own processing output. That’s to say, er… I took over command. Kind of like a coup d'état, I guess?”

“I think I get you.”

Connor continued: “I remade my mind palace into something safe from them and then I woke up.”

“And they’re gone?”

“For now. They could attack again. But they’re gone for now.”

“So that means you’re free.”

Connor blinked and looked away from Hank, staring out into passing scenery. Hank couldn’t help a tiny smile stretch on his face for a moment and he continued fondly. “You’ve been free for the last three months, but it seems CyberLife was lurking in the back of your head that whole time. But now, if what you say is right… you’re totally free for the first time in your life. They can’t control you anymore - and with a big brain like yours, I’m sure you can stop ‘em if they try and get to ya again. I know they won’t be able to.”

“How are you so sure?” Connor asked.

“Cos if they do,” Hank replied, with a malicious grin, “I’ll destroy ‘em myself.”

Connor grinned back. “The whole of CyberLife?”

“Yep. Whole of it.”

“That’s how far you’ll go to protect me…?”

“You underestimate me. I’d blow the whole of Detroit to keep you safe.”

Somehow, Connor felt a little bit disturbed and touched at the same time. Feeling blood warm his cheeks, he avoided eye-contact and said simply, “I highly appreciate your concern for my well-being-”

“I know you do, you’ve gone bright blue.”

“- but I would advise you avoiding saying such threats, else I may have to ask the Captain to initiate a safeguarding protocol for you.”

“Oh, no need,” Hank said, with a hearty laugh as he pushed up the gear stick, “I think I’m already on one.”

Connor was adamant to head to the CyberLife tower as soon as possible, but after the mess that had just occurred Hank refused. Connor needed to take a day or two to take it easy and relax; things were moving very quickly over the past couple days, especially since they had been in a state of relaxation for the past 3 months. Connor tried to fight Hank on it as soon as they arrived home, but Hank was dead set on his choice.

“Look, we ain't’ gonna argue about this, alright?” Hank said firmly, taking his coat off and hanging it on the peg, “You’re gonna stay here and rest, and in the morning you take the day off whilst I go to the station.”

“But - I think -”

“Nope. Don’t care. If you’re that adamant to go out and about, then you can take Sumo for a walk in the morning.”

Upon hearing his name, Sumo’s ears pricked up and looked over towards Hank.

“Yeah, that’s right, ya dozy dog,” Hank said, smiling, “Walkies with Connor - in the  _ morning,  _ alright? Not now, it’s probably like 2am…”

“What’s wrong with taking a dog for a walk at night?”

“I dunno, only nutters do it. Hey,” Hank said, pointing a finger at Connor as his mouth opened, “I know what you’re gonna say and you better not say it.”

*

Connor dreamt for the first time that night. Again, he was not aware that androids  _ could  _ dream but it definitely happened. He couldn’t remember much of it though. There were confusing flashes of snow and water, the smiling face of Chloe that shifted seamlessly into the smirk of Kamski - and the dreaded word constantly hummed in the background like a cursed mantra:  _ P218, P218, P218… _

He wanted to seek consolation from Hank as soon as he woke up, but when he entered the kitchen he saw that Hank had already left for the station. There was a sticky note left on the counter reminding Connor to walk Sumo and that if he tried to follow Hank to work he would dismantle the android himself.

“Hank is a very bipolar man, isn’t he?” He said to Sumo, who was lazing on the floor and slightly drooling, “Last night he was ready to destroy Detroit for the sake of my well-being, and today he wants to take me apart. It’s quite interesting, really.”

Sumo had been initially excited last night for a walk, but this morning he seemed to have the preference of rolling around on the floor and dozing. It took 20 minutes to finally drag the dog out of the house, plus an extra five as he took a shit on the carpet and Connor had to clear it up.

It was a pleasant and fresh day, with the morning sky blooming above them. Dressed in hoodie and jeans with a wool beanie, Connor decided it would be a great opportunity to go around the nearby park.

_ You’re totally free.  _ Connor knew Hank was right, but for some reason he didn’t feel it. He had hoped for some shift in his mind or something, but he felt like nothing changed. He was still in this strange and desperate position of feeling like everything he needed to know, all the answers he needed and the freedom he longed for was right in front of him… but he just couldn’t reach it. Something was holding him back--

The leash yanked suddenly and Connor snapped back to reality as Sumo started yapping excitedly at a pair of Border Collie’s prancing around the park.

“E-Easy, Sumo!” Connor stuttered, fighting against the tug, “Come on, now!”

“I think he wants to go run about, mate,” a voice said. A man was watching with a polite grin, watching Connor’s struggle.

“R-Right,” he replied. He unhooked the leash and Sumo bounded off, instantly befriending the two dogs and chased them around together.

“Looks like he’s having the time of his life,” the man said, smiling cheerfully.

“I’ve never seen him so active,” Connor chuckled.

“Lazy dog at home, huh? Peanut is just the same. Is he yours?”

“He’s my, uh - roommate’s.”

“Ah, I see. What’s his name?”

“Sumo.”

“Peanut and Coco. That’s their names.”

They watched the dogs run around, rolling around in the grass and yapping. The man turned around, scratching his head for a moment. “Hmm… my missus should be around here somewhere. I wonder where she ran off to.”

“Do you need help finding her?”

“Nah, she’ll wind up eventually. You got a missus? Husband?”

Connor thought briefly about how pretty Chloe was for a moment, then replied, “No. I’m not really made for dating.”

“Don’t blame you. Married life is hectic, that’s for sure. Especially kids - don’t have kids, mate.”

“I’m not made for children either,” Connor responded, “Do you regret having children then?”

“What? Oh, no - not at all, it’s just a bit of a joke… they’re a handful, that’s for sure - ah, here she is.”

“Hey, honey.” A ginger woman came over, pushing a pram where a toddler was chewing on the ear of a stuffed dog, “He dropped Spotty again, had to run around the park looking for it. Hello there, dear, I see you’ve made friends with my husband, Luke. I’m Kath.”

There was a pleasant and gentle feeling ebbing inside of him. It was strange to integrate himself with people, haven been isolated for three months. Hank was not a sociable man and thus Connor was too. This was a strange new opportunity to meet other humans and know what a real family was like… it was nice.

“Hello. I’m Connor,” he replied warmly, “And who’s this young man?” He said, bending over to look at the child. The baby looked up and waved his spotted toy dog, gurgling a greeting.

“What a coincidence,” she laughed, “He’s called Connor, too.”

“Little tyke,” Luke grinned.

“Hello Connor,” said Connor, grinning at the boy, “And, er - hello Spotty.”

“It’s good to meet someone at last,” Kath said cheerfully as Connor straightened up, “We just moved into the neighbourhood. We used to live down in the city but we decided to move out into the suburbs after the… are they calling it a revolution? We thought it might be easier on little Connor, there’s still a lot of noise about it downtown.”

“Lots of androids all over the place,” Luke said with a nod, “Loads downtown and there’s still a lot here in the suburbs.”

Ah… of course. Connor had a beanie on. They had no idea he was android too.

“Would you say that it’s a bad thing?” He asked cautiously.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Kath replied hastily, “Don’t get us wrong - it’s fantastic. We never bought an android ourselves and we’re not too political… we wanted to make sure Connor was raised in a nice quiet setting, that’s all.”

“Makes sense.”

“I feel like I’ve seen you before, y’know,” Luke asked, biting a lip, “You aren’t on TV, are you?”

“No, no,” Connor said quickly - he wasn’t in much of a mood to get recognized right now and have to chat more about android rights, “I’m not. I work on the police force.”

“No worries, just wondering - hey, look like your dog is tuckered out.”

Connor turned to see Sumo slowly lumbering up towards him, panting. He came to Connor’s feet and flopped instantly on his stomach.

“I think we better get you home,” Connor said, “It was lovely to meet you.”

“And you,” Kath replied, “Take care of yourself, Connor.”

“Thank you.”

Connor led Sumo away and turned his head to look back at the little family. They were petting their two dogs as the baby Connor laughed his head off, and a strange feeling overwhelmed him.

Despite everything Markus had worked for, he still felt isolated from the world.

Isolated even from Hank.

He spent the rest of the day at home doing chores. He cleaned up the kitchen and living room, attempted a go at Hank’s room before reeling away from a disgusting smell under his bed and cooked up a hot dinner of spaghetti. He was just dishing it up onto plates when Hank came in.

“Good evening, Hank,” he called out, “How was your work day?”

“Shit,” Hank grumbled, swinging his coat on a peg, “Fowler had a go at me.”

“Whatever for?”

“Gavin kept bugging’ me about you so I punched him.”

“You should have ignored him,” Connor replied with a frown.

“Yeah, I did for most of the day,” Hank sighed, flopping on the couch with a grumpy expression, “Then he asked if CyberLife finally deported you back to their headquarters and destroyed you for good so I swung at him.”

“Hank…”

“Don’t go tellin’ me off. I don’t regret it, even if Fowler chewed me out. Didja walk Sumo?”

“I did. He had lots of fun.”

He offered the food to Hank and sat down, digging into the spaghetti himself. It tasted rich and beefy.

“I met a nice couple in the park.”

“Yeah?”

“They had a child called Connor.”

“Heh… they named it after you.”

“Hank - why don’t you socialize with people?”

Hank didn’t respond; he stabbed a bit more viciously at his spaghetti so Connor pressed on. “You were sitting alone at the bar when we first met. You seemed to know the man at the burger stall well but weren’t friends. Why do you seem so reclusive?”

“Why the fuck do you think?” Hank replied grumpily, “I’m a grey, miserable cop who thinks about shooting himself at least once a week and drinks like it’s the end of the world. It might come to a surprise to you, but not many people are attracted to that kinda person.”

“I was,” Connor replied, “Working with an officer with personal issues in added challenge, but behind your gruff exterior I can see a warm-hearted and caring man.”

“Deep, deep inside, sure,” Hank replied, “But the thing with humans is that they see the exterior and instantly get switched off. I ain’t a people person.”

He glanced over to the android and saw his deflated expression, and sighed in defeat. “Okay, maybe I can try go to a more social bar one day…”

“That’s good to hear. It might do you some good to gain more acquaintances. I would expect you’d probably tire of me after a while.”

“I’m always tired of you, but you’re still here, ain’t ya?”

“I mean as in a  _ human  _ acquaintance. Not someone like - like me.”

“I’m not in the mood to be soppy tonight, Connor,” he replied gruffly, “So don’t put yerself down like that. I’m fine with it just being us right now.” 

Connor wanted to resume the conversation but Hank made it clear enough by falling onto the sofa and start flicking through the channels on the TV.

_ Maybe he’s still recovering,  _ Connor thought, making his way into his bedroom.

_ Recovering from what? _

_ From everything. _

He thought he was about to call it a day and end up sleeping for hours on end, but it felt as though he had only slept for a few minutes before he was disturbed by Hank rapping loudly on the door.

“Connor? Get out of bed.”

“Hank…? It’s 11pm… what’s--?”

“We’ve got a call.”

Connor leapt out of bed, opening the door up. Hank’s face was grey and eyes almost dead. This wasn't going to be one of those fun cases, then.

“Who is it?”

Hank did not respond, preferring to ignore him and shoulder on his coat. 

Connor’s insides were cold. “Hank - who is it?”

When Hank told him, Connor felt a horrid plunging sensation as if he was thrown into icy water.

“A little boy’s dead.”


End file.
